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daddyhausen · 3 years

Text

• day four — daddy kink —undertaker •

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{ warnings } — smut, 18+, { minors do not interact } fem!reader, reader, undertaker x fem!reader, daddy kink, lingerie, praise, oral sex { m receiving } throatpie, rough sex, unprotected sex, vaginal sex, penetrative sex, creampie

{ word count } — 1k

{ genre } — smut

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you could sense his frustrations, he had been locked up in his room the whole day, his mind perplexed as he struggled to figure out a simple promo he had thought of last night. in his tiredness he forgot to write it down or record it, he’d come to regret it in the morning.

you gave him some space, he needed that much at least. it was his first love, and nothing could take him away from that, not even you. hours had passed and he still remained locked in his room, the seclusion proved useless to him as his grunts of frustration could be heard from the other side of the house.

it wasn’t much but an idea popped into your head. your husband deserved a break, he’d gone without one for hours. quietly, you snuck into the bedroom, he kept the door unlocked so you could provide him food when he needed it, still it was a shock that he did not notice you.

you tiptoed to your side of the bed, reaching into the bottom draw of the bedside dresser, your eyes often averting from it to him, his back still to you in deep concentration. you sighed softly, grabbing a matching set of red lace lingerie, that would surely keep him distracted for a while.

quietly you raced into the bathroom, letting out an audible sigh thankful that you did not get caught. you quickly shed your clothing, slipping on the lace garments, you admired yourself in the mirror for a moment, it was his favourite set. you loved the way it hugged your curves tightly, accentuating your round ass and plump breasts. you felt as confident as ever.

you applied some light make-up, curled your hair the slightest, adding a deep red lip to match the lingerie. you stepped out of the bathroom with a sway in your hips. your husband had no idea what was coming. you entered the bedroom once more, quite in your steps as you wrapped your arms around his neck, hands slowly running down his chest.

“babygirl, i’m busy right now” he mentioned, prying your hands from his chest momentarily, focusing back to his work, still it did not deter you, you planted a soft kiss to his neck, your lips stained in red ink of his skin as you spun the chair around, making your face him.

“what the fuck-“ he halted his sentence, seeing your figure so scantily clad. he gulped thickly, eyes scanning your frame lustfully. “what’s all this for, babygirl?”

“i thought you’d might need a distraction, daddy” you purred seductively, kneeling between his legs as your hands stroked up his thighs, resting against the waistband of his sweatpants.

“oh yeah? and what did you have in mind?” he teased, feeling his cock harden at the sight of you. you merely giggled in response, prying his sweatpants down the slightest, reaching into his boxers and freeing his cock. he groaned slightly at the cold hair hitting his skin, yet your palm warm against his flesh.

you teased the head of his cock with your tongue, swirling slow circles around the glossy tip, shiny with his pre-cum. you kept a hand at the base of his cock, pumping his thick shaft, veins pulsing around the base of his cock. you took his size in your mouth, sucking lightly around his tip as your hands began to pump his shaft.

“oh fuck, babygirl” he groaned, knotting his fingers in your hair. you moaned around. his size, taking him deeper and deeper until your nose nuzzled against the mound of his cock.

“so fucking good…” he praises sent you core crazy. your wetness gathering against your folds, soaking your panties. he began to buck his hips, you kept your eyes fixated on him, allowing him to fuck your throat relentlessly. tears started to well in your eyes, slightly smearing the mascara you had so delicately applied, spit and pre-gum gathered around the corners of your lips, seeping down his shaft as well as your chin and throat.

“fuck babygirl, let daddy cum in your pretty little mouth…” his cock smeared with red lipstick, throbbing thickly as hot ropes of cum painted your cheeks white, leaking onto your heart-shaped lips. you pulled away, swallowing his seed thankfully, unclasping your bra in the process, he picked you up by your wrist, pushing you against his desk, your ass wiggling playfully in the air for him.

“you want daddy to fuck your pretty pussy, baby?” he lulled, tugging your panties to the side, your cunt glistening with your juices under the sunlight bleeding through the curtains.

“yes daddy! that’s all i want!” you whined, pushing your ass back against him. trying to gain some friction you so desperately craved. he wasted no time fulfilling your wish, his cock filling your tight cunt with ease, quickly slamming himself deep inside your walls with a ruthless pace

“oh fuck, daddy yes!” you cried, your nails, clawing at his desk, heavy moans leaving your lips as your hips pushed back against his cock. small hums of pleasure leaving his lips. his growls were low and guttural in your ears.

“you love my cock don’t you, babygirl?” you could only nod at his statement. “you like the way i fuck your cunt, huh?”

“yes daddy…” you whimpered, letting his cock fill you to the brim before coating your walls with his hot seed until it began to drip from your soaking cunt. he kept his movements, continuing to ruin your pussy until your own release. your juices making a mess of his thick cock. he pulled out, leaning over you, the last spurts of his seed dripping onto your plump ass as he kissed your lips softly.

“you really know how to distract me, babygirl”

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#wwe #wwe smut #wwe fanfiction #wwe imagine #wrestling imagine #undertaker x reader #undertaker

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jean-does-not-have-a-horseface · 3 years

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Would you do a Jean x Reader x Reiner one? The reader felt so betrayed by Reiner being a titan shifter and when he left she felt so confused whether she can loves him or not after finding out the truth. Jean comfort her and they eventually fall in love. Or you can do a modern au one where Reiner cheated on the reader and Jean begin to see his chance with the reader then they both had a relationship. But she still can't forget Reiner. I truly love your writing! Have a good day ! ♥

i was wondering if you could do a modern au jean x reader. where the reader is very stressed for a test of some kind, and jean and the reader end up skipping the test and spend the whole day together instead, where towards the end of the day jean confesses his feelings for the reader. a lot of fluff please if you could i am obsessed sorry by @cj-sparkss

A/N: So i decided to merge those two requests because they fit really good together in my head! I hope ou guys like this! I strongly recommend listening to any song in Halsey's album, Manic while reading.

Pairing: Jean/ Reader, some past Reiner/ reader if you squint

Tags: college!au, art school au, fluff all the way

Warnings: Jean being way too cute for his own sake, seriously

Sketches Of You

Your head was burning.

Your eyes were stinging; tiny little little blood vessels were popping here and there, throbbing profoundly as they merged together, rushing their way to your irises. You didn't know for how long you had been awake, mostly because a few days had passed and you didn't remember falling asleep or waking up on your once comfortable desk chair.

Before you laid numerous books open in different pages, most of the writting they held emphasized by your favorite pastel highlighter. What felt like your lamp buzzed, burning a canary yellow light over the mahogany material of your desk, warming up the spot where your hand used to lay. A pen in your hand was all you could bring yourself to hold with your numb, frozen fingers, the plastic edges of its tube sunk into your skin, carving bumps to mark their spot in your hand.

Wait, oh no, you thought as you looked around this wasn't your dorm, this was the university's library.

The library around you was extremely quiet as you laid face down on one book, your mouth slightly part and your lips dry save for the little ribbon of drool that moistened a line down your right cheek. Only for one more minute, you told yourself, deciding to shut your eyes together just to allow them sometime to rest, ignoring how such request was what had caused you to drift off to such extend in the first place. Stinging tears escaped the corners of your eyelids, signifying how tired and dry your irises had grown to be. Letting out a huge sigh you tried to lift your head, at least this could be an attempt to get your life together for the day.

Your scattered books came to close quietly under your palms, the numerous pieces of papers and notes being tucked messily in between pages, your own fatigue causing you to break your own rules when it came to being as neat as you could with your notes. Another sigh left you as you sank into the back the plastic chair, your books firmly standing on top of eachother and into your palms.

This test was going to end you. You knew it. Despite having tried to memorise all the information that was required for you to even try to get a five -seriously, a five would be absolutely godsent if you could at least get that grade- all you were left with was your brain feeling mushy and muddy without any actual knowledge of the subject you had been studying for. Why on earth was gothic architecture an essential class in your first year in art school was beyond you. Was this university never supposed to let you graduate on top of trying to prevent you getting in for numerous years?

Resisting the urge to scream or pull your hair off your head you decided that it was time to get up, your knees straightening slightly at the your brain's command, only to be sent back into the blue plastic of your chair, your whole body growling in fatigue. Your chest heavied as you let out a whine, bringing your hands to your eyes to scrub away the stinging ache you were feeling.

"You good?"

Your head turned to the direction of the voice maniacally, your eyes shooting wide as you practically ripped your hands off of your face. Looking up, your (e/c) orbs met with hazel ones, little specs of yellow and green stared back at you through thick eyelashes, adorned with a complex of worry plastered on dark chestnut eyebrows.

"Yeah Jean, I'm just studying."

"Oh it's Mr Ackerman's test right?"

"Hm" you hummed in response, another whine coming out of your lips.

"Yeah I remember how that class went for me. He's pretty nice if you get to know him though. I have to submit a few sketches for tomorrow, can I sit with you or were you leaving?"

"No, I'll keep you company, I need a break from whatever.." your eyes wandered at the books in your hands and the numerous note sheets peaking out from anywhere you could lay your gaze on "..this is."

Extending a hand Jean reached out for the head of the chair right next to you, pulling it back in order to let himself sink into the dark blue plastic seat, similarly to you. His lips pushed into a thin line as he looked at you, his cheek puffing up in the action. A hand came to your shoulder comfortingly as another one pulled out his sketchbook from his run down and way too littered with dry paint tote bag.

"Are those for Moblit's workshop?"

"Mhm." Jean confirmed. "You got any 0.8 tipped inks?"

"Yeah, I do."

Setting the leather covered sketchbook on the mahogany table Jean turned his head to you again, pointing his eyes onto the black pencil case in front of you. In response you shrugged your shoulders, your palms shooting up to your eyes once again. Jean's hand grabbed on your case, his long fingers digging through the numerous inking pens and markers that overlapped each other.

"I can't believe you have the Sakura Pens when you know I don't like them." Jean whined, hands roaming through your belongings still.

"Jean," you said, a deep chuckle escaping you in the process "I happen to like them, you know."

"They're yikes."

"You just can't use them correctly."

"How do you use an inking pen correctly. Enlighten me." Jean mocked, his fingers throwing signs in the air to accentuate his words.

Resting his head on his fist Jean opened his sketchbook, swiping through numerous ivory cold pressed pages, filled with inked sketches. Your eye twitched as you tried to keep up with many of the drawings you could spot; you had seen the contents of this sketchbook a thousand times, admiring Jean's skill with ink. His professor, Mister Moblit had one of the most interesting workshops for students who specialised in inks, and you aspired to take his classes in your following year in art school, supposing you could pass your classes this very semester.

"What are you supposed to be drawing?"

"Anything, mostly things that make us feel like they are important to draw." Jean said.

"Oh and library is important?"

"Sasha said you'll be here, so yup. And I want to draw my hands actually "

You clicked your tongue, shaking your head in borderline disbelief. Honestly, if you weren't that bummed about your test and your recent break up you could have laughed at Jean's sly arrogance. Your eyes traveled to Jean, examining his quiet form as he studied his palms. Inevitably your eyes studied them as well.

His fingers were long and tan and harsh to look at, scrapped in most places with tints of Indian ink. They stuggled to manage with your pencil case, his pinkies and thumbs couldn't even begin to fit in the little object and it made you wonder how he even managed to work his inking pens correctly with such enormous hands. Some veins popped from here and there, accentuating his bulky joints perfectly; they run from the back of his palms to his wrist, mingling with more of their blue kind in his calfs and biceps. The occasional blotches of dried paint were decorating them. Even some paint covered hairs spiked as the light contracted his form.

You smiled miscellaneously.

Your own finger traveled without remorse towards them, poking at a few hairs that were littered with paint. By pinching one, Jean shot back in half pain, his brows furrowing in confusion as he stared at you. "Hey, what they fuck!"

"You do that to me all the time when i have paint in my hands!" You half laughed, shooting him a mocking furrowed look as well.

“You’re so cruel!” Jean grinned.

“To pay you back with your own penny right?”

Jean cocked his eyebrow at you, a few lines begging to make an appearance on his forehead. He shook his head a couple of times, throwing a few shaggy strands of hair away from his face, his forehead immediately lighting up as his ashy blond locks overlapped just above his ears. You mimicked him, using a hand to move your feathery bangs away from your face as to not have them intertwining with your vision.

Jean brought a digit to his mouth, biting at the bulky knuckle while wrapping his lips around it to suck at the sore spot, dramatically mourning the loss of one single hair. It made you laugh harder than it should have and you told him off, quickly grabbing his hand by the wrist to pull it further away from his mouth.

"Ew you idiot are your hands even washed!? Don't put them in your mouth!"

Jean's smile faded gradually as he nodded its only reminder remaining in his eyes as they softened with each passing second they looked at you. You bobbed your head to the side, taking in the way he was looking at you and you felt your gut grunting in the anxiety you had managed to drown at one time.

You definitely knew that look.

"So how are you after... The whole Reiner thing?"

When Jean let the sentence out, he instantly regretted it. Biting back the inside of his lip, his teeth dug into his soft, fleshy gum, the tiny specks of spiky under lip hair he had poking through his chin. You could see the regret plastered on his face, yet you ignored it with a sigh, pushing your stern further back into the chair again.

Of course Jean would ask about that. Reiner and you had broken up a little less that a month ago and it was stressful enough to send your anxiety over the roof. Coming home to find him drapped in the sheets with someone else was still burning through your brain like a hot iron, marking the fleshy crevices by piercing your skull.

Jean and you hadn't had a chance to talk about your break up yet; in the midst of it being a spontaneous reaction to Reiner's anathema and your upcoming mid-terms, you had chosen to indulge yourself fully with the everlasting pleasure of delving into studying.

And now, as you tried to utter your awaited words your stomach clenched at the foreshaken memory that you had tried to bury in the depths of your soul, your hands sweating just a tiny bit as you gulped down on some saliva to dumpen your dry throat. Jean's hazel orbs were set on you with curiosity and reluctance, his skin tingling inside his crewneck sweater.

"I mean, Eren told us about it and then we fought on who would punch Reiner first you know."

You oggled at him as he spoke awkwardly, your lashes batting rapidly as a wave of confusion washed through you.

"You don't have to hit Reiner you know, we all make our choices and he made his."

"Ah," Jean sighed heavily "I suppose so. I'm here for you though, you can talk to me."

"You're actually doing an assignment at the moment" you said and pointed your finger onto his sharp nose, giving him a playful push to the side. "No need to talk about my sorry love life."

"Your love life isn't pitiful, don't talk about it like that!"

"It's not pitiful, just sad." You sighed, reaching out to your pencil case. "Just sad."

Your fingers run through the case even though your eyes weren't fixated on the action, your sense of touch working its way to let you know which object you were seeking. The tips of your fingers caught on the thick Posca marker quickly and you locked it in a grasp between your pointer and middle finger, bringing it up through the zip up opening.

"Give me your hand." You ordered at Jean as you clapped your fingers to your palm in a 'come here' motion.

"It could always get better you know." Jean spoke and threw his hand to you.

Slowly the cap was off the market with a snap and you slid it up towards it's butt to pop it on there as to not lose it in any case it feel off of the desk and onto the mosaic floor.

Jean's nose lit up in a faint scarlet and his ears followed right next, lighting up in a deeper shade of the color on his nose which made his hand snap away from you in a matter of seconds. With puckered lips he stared at the corner of the room that was in the opposite direction of yours, his gut drenching him in short tempered anxiety.

"You done painting my nails with the posca pen?" Jean remarked, lips still puckered as he turned to face you. "When's your exam?"

"Three o'clock."

"Wanna ditch?"

Your eyes goggled in his for a second. The luminous morning light that peaked through the library binds fell onto him dearly, caressing a few of his features in a lemony colored mellow way, your gaze traveled into anywhere on his face as you tried to examine his expression while your gut was beginning to churn at the sly thought of agreeing with his query.

Weighting your options wasn't a seriously hard thing to do; if you took the test you were most likely going to fail, but if you didn't take it you'd have to live with the guilt of not even putting the minimal effort in it for a few weeks. But, you had tried so hard to pass all of your other classes so why shouldn't you slack off for one that was bound to end in a fiasco?

You found yourself nodding to Jean before you could actually give more thought to it. His face immediately lit up, ashy blond locks flying over his eyes as he shook his head in excitement. With one move his sketchbook was closed again, left to mourn over the non existent scribbles Jean could have made during all this time he was sitting next to you.

The hard cover protected sketching pages were thrown into to his tote bag once again, the sound of the sketchbook colliding and clashing with a few more objects he had in the bag filling the silent air of the library.

"Put your books in here!" He offered, opening the sides of the tote bag right on front of your face, signaling you to do as he suggested.

By taking a long sigh you took a turn in throwing your books and pencil case in the bag, one object following another on the pursuit of finding their own place in Jean's crammed bag. A shy smile adorned your features as you looked at him, the mischievous little devil on your shoulder smiling proudly at your actions as if you were a high schooler skipping school.

_____

Black Cat was a notorious cafe among art university students for numerous reasons. For example, it featured a decent amount of of beautiful contemporary art that was meticulously merged with the soft, cobblestone-cottagecore-home-during-the-winter aesthetic and all of their tables, stools and booths were artist-friendly to the max. Additionally it played Nirvana and Metallica for most of the day and on top of that they actually had a chunky and extremely cuddly black cat roaming around the store that you often found on your lap during your time there.

Oh, and the batwoman made amazing custom cocktails.

Really was there anything else anyone needed in a store?

The soft tangerine light flickered open as the sun outside started to hide it's shy low lights under the peak of a mountain you couldn't recall the name of, the soft smell of apple pie filling your nostrils as you sipped lightly from your earl gray tea occasionally, stealing a few glances of Jean's focused expression. A knowingly half smile went up to your face as you looked at the scenery outside before fixing your eyes back onto the bright screen of your phone.

Jean cooed in his leathery chair for the upteenth time today, his gaze fixated on the sketchbook on his hands. You had spend last hour in absolute silence; you had decided to roam around in your phone for references for an assigned collage you had to do in Photoshop as Jean had settled on drawing the horizon from outside the window to practice on his perspective while finishing up the sketches he had to submit.

Your day had passed by pretty fast; you had visited an urban side of the town that was flooded with art supply stores and you had delved into every single one roaming around to find any kind of supplies you were short on, or just generally needed. As Jean correctly had said, you are always short on art supplies.

Thus, you had ended up with a bag filled with complementary acrylic colors in tubes of 20ml mostly because they costed a dollar each, and also because as art students you got to receive twenty percent off of all your supply bills. Jean had only bought a new set of watercolors and a few Edding inks and 0.7 tipped poscas, as he was sure he would ruin your expensive Sakura Liners in his attempts to finish his project.

Then you had decided to cram your place for some much needed lunch before heading off to Black Cat to have some tea and coffee while Jean would finish off his last few of the sketches he had been drawing throughout the day.

"So" Jean awkwardly spoke as in to break the deep silence, his thumb pressing over the edge of the page his drawing was placed as he closed the sketchbook carefully "I wanted to ask, because ahem, I'm your friend and I'm worried about you... Do you want to vent about Reiner?"

"Ah, no" you shook your head and fixed your gaze onto the auburn colored liquor in your cup as you reluctantly lift it up to bring it to your lips before speaking "I mean, I got so sad you know. And I haven't gotten over it, of course, I mean I liked Reiner. A lot."

"I came see it in your eyes. But I'm here for-"

"And he's a bitch you know? He could have told me if he was bothered by anything I did or if it wasn't going well for him. I'd gladly work anything out or even break up peacefully."

"You know," Jean sighed, he too bringing his cup of coffee to his lips to take a sip before gulping it down. "My opinion is obviously biased here, but I support you. I've took a psychology class and we were actually delving into as to why some people cheat, there are many reasons as to why it could have happened."

Your heart slightly aches as you looked at him, a few veins in your hand twitching slightly as he continued rambling about all things he had grasped from his class. Your stomach growled angrily in anxiety, warning you to put an halt to your friend's words but you couldn't bring yourself to do so.

Not knowing the reason as to why Reiner had chosen to see someone else behind your back had hurt you beyond repair. Deep inside you still felt the need to get some closure, although with your stress on your exams you had been sure you would most likely give in to anything Reiner would say and this wasn't who you were.

You could go on without having any closure, it shouldn't have mattered so much to you in any way.

And to some extent it didn't.

"I'm hurt, but I'm the other hand I don't really care about anything you know?"

"Mhm, yeah, look at you getting over it so quickly!" Jean said semi enthusiastically. "You need to be able to share your pain in order for it to become small and eventually non-existent."

"You know, for someone who takes such sophisticated classes you talk like you haven't slept in ages!"

"Give me a break, as if you don't."

The two of you burst into bubbling laughter, your chests heaving and falling as the sounds of joy left you one by one. Jean's hand had come to rest on top of yours softly, giving you a couple of squeezes as his eyes squinted in synch with yours.

And then, in a moment that seemed like it was forced out of a coffee shop au fanfiction, Jean's hand rubbed a few soothing circles over yours. Slowly his laughter was begging to set into a silent harmony, the woody brown specs of his eyes providing the slightest tint of warmth into his gaze.

"This is why I love you so much."

The choice of words was supposed to be naive whether it was intentional or not, or that's what you tried to tell yourself because you thought you knew Jean better than anyone. The look in his eyes, the soft upwards curves of his eyebrows, the way his top lip overlapped go bottom one as his eyes glimmered into yours; this wasn't a very casual look for Jean, it was the look he had on when he was looking at something that mesmerised him. And you knew he meant exactly what he had said.

But did you like Jean?

Well, was there anyone who could spend so much time with Jean and not fall for him, even without realising it?

At one time it had become obvious that he liked you, although he'd never act upon it. You knew it in his movements, in the little ways he looked at you or cared for you like no one else actually did while hiding behind the mask of being a friend. Eren had been one to tease him for it restlessly and you had been able to catch upon that too but you had never let it be known that you had been able to see through his facade.

"Forget it I shouldn't even have had-"

With curious eyes you stared back, your gaze never truly leaving him. When he suddenly shook his hand off of yours you found your other hand pressing on top of his, trapping the limb in place as you tried to open your mouth to utter any word. It was still hard to find the right choice of words, ones that wouldn't hurt to be heard.

"Jean... I-"

"No, forget it, it just slipped, shit."

"Look Jean shut up for a second please I want to speak okay?" You huffed half playfully, despairate to stop Jean's mumbling "I know."

"You know?" Jean cursed under his breath.

"Yeah, I do, it's obvious. And I've had this huge crush on you ever since fifth grade you know? I never really got over you because I spent all of my teen years thinking we'd end up together."

You watched as Jean's face lit up at your words, a new glimmer adorning his eyes just as the sky turned a sheer violet as the sun retreated deeper into a non visible horizon.

"And then we kissed in eighth grade and we fought about it and we stopped hanging out because I asked for space since I just could believe what was happening. But we're friends again and it's the best thing to happen to me in years."

You continued, your hand never leaving his while soothing circles were rubbed onto his palm.

"But I'm not going to ask you for space this time."

"You're not?"

"No. Just a little patience. I'm still getting over Reiner and I don't want to be unfair to you and rip you off of something that you might ask from me."

Jean snapped his hand away from yours and you retreated your hands back to yourself shyly, a bitter mouth leaking into your mouth as you tried to swallow it down fast to no avail. Somehow your heart felt a strong stinging, the pulling of your heartstrings at steak while your heart was sprawled before you.

Was that your last chance with Jean? You had told yourself that time and space between you would be right one day, but that day seemed to stray further away now, slipping right off your hands because you couldn't forget Reiner fast enough.

"I'm not fourteen anymore, so don't be afraid about me straying away. I just wanted to show you something."

Jean's worked through the pages of his sketchbook, taking a few seconds before they landed where they wanted to. Flipping the sketchbook to match your point of view, he revealed the sketches he had been scribbling all day. They depicted you in majority. The look on your face as you picked a tube of paint, your hands as they grabbed through numerous brushes and sketchbooks. Even the way you stared at your phone as you sat across him was perfectly sketched on the paper and hatched in indian ink, adorned by Jean's raw drawing style.

"Jean, that's me!"

"Mister Moblit told us to draw things that were personally important to us. So, I hope you don't mind."

Damn, you felt like tearing up.

In the midst of trying to get your stupid heart to calm down from the impossible rhythm in which it was beating at and stating at Jean's sketches so hard that your eyes felt like they'd pop out and any given moment your would felt like setting fire to your whole being while your tears were restlessly trying to put it out. It was even outdated to feel like that about Jean, your younger self told you but there was no way you could help it.

With rivers of tears running from the corners of your eyes you looked up at the hazel orbs that were set on you, feeling your heart want up by their luminous gaze.

"Jean I-"

"Shush, you don't have to say anything. Just let me know if I can hug you."

"I'd love that." You said shyly under your breath.

Next thing you knew Jean had gotten up from his seat and had plopped himself right next to you, pushing your head deep in his chest. The song in the background faded gradually as you felt serenity wash through you, despite your heart hammering in your chest beyond a point you could actually feel it.

And for now all that mattered was that you could listen to Jean's heart beat nearly as fast as yours while his words played inside your head.

Maybe, just maybe time and space between the two of you was right this time.

taglist: @sasageyowrites @levisbrat25 @ackermans-freedom-inc @melancholicmonologue @berrijam @callmepromise @nobody-knows-anymore

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cinebration · 3 years

Text

Magic Ink (Geralt x Reader) [Request]

Hello! I see you are taking requests, I wanted one where Geralt and reader get matching tattoos — Requested by anon

I know this isn’t probably what you expected, but since I couldn’t hack this as a Modern AU, I had to come up with a reason why a woman in the Continent from that era would have a tattoo.

Warnings: none

Gif Source: frodo-sam

Everyone but you had a shtick in the traveling troupe. There was Lila of the dyed green hair, though she told everyone she was born that way, and Gillum of the mismatched eyes, caused by a fist to the face during a drunken brawl. Eloise claimed to be the reincarnation of the Elf Queen, and Bertie could make any of the tattoos on his muscles dance.

Then there was you. You didn’t know what to choose or even how to go about doing it. You acted as assistant to some of the acrobatic acts, juggling for some fools and ensuring costumes fit properly. Bertie was making that difficult, as his drinking had gotten out of control and had contributed to a swelling beer gut.

It was decent work, and you didn’t complain, but you wanted more than to play second fiddle. Not that you could play the fiddle…

It was on a trip to find more fabric to accommodate Bertie’s expanding girth that you stumbled across a reedy man who looked like a vagrant but smelled like a courtesan. As you passed him, studiously avoiding his scrutinizing gaze, he called, “Dear lady! Such unblemished skin. You are the perfect canvas!”

You hesitated. A canvas? For art? Slowly turning back, your hands toying with the stick you carried to fend off anything from starving dogs to lecherous men, you asked, “What do you mean?”

“I mean, an artist can do much with something so perfect!”

“What artist?”

He swept into a low bow and smiled, revealing startlingly white, straight teeth. “Lechforte, at your service.”

Rolling the stick between your rough palms, you turned over the possibility he was suggesting. Bertie had tattoos, but a woman with some would be more of a marvel. Showing some skin would be required, which always drew crowds.

You could already hear the troupe leader crowing, “Come see the painted lady! The Perfect Canvas!”

“What would you want from me?”

Lechforte smiled graciously. “Merely to have my name alongside yours, so that all may know who had the honor of painting you.”

Geralt trotted into town on Roach, Jaskier bustling beside him. The bard’s cheeks were red from exertion and his eyes wild with exhaustion, but he kept up the pace, eager for the inn. As they entered the town, a man in motley cried at their arrival, “Come see the Unusuals! The Green Lady and the Elf Queen! The Perfect Canvas!”

“Ooo, a new troupe,” Jaskier managed to say between huffed breaths. “We ought to see them, Geralt.”

Geralt grunted in disagreement.

“Come on, the ladies are guaranteed to be randy, if not fine.”

Geralt glared at him.

Jaskier sighed and sagged against the post of the inn in relief. “You are no fun.”

“We’re not here to have fun,” Geralt growled, dismounting.

They were hunting a sorcerer, a man who had escaped from prison the night before he was to be hanged for treason. Geralt had reason to believe the man had traveled through the town, possibly seeking shelter or alms. Storming into the inn, he located the innkeeper and cornered him, demanding to know if he had seen the sorcerer. The innkeeper sputtered out a repetitive “no.”

“We keep moving.”

Jaskier stepped in Geralt’s path. “Absolutely not. I have been walking for days. I deserve a bath and a straw bed.”

Geralt’s mouth pulled into a frown, but Jaskier waved him off to find the innkeeper and secure lodgings.

The troupe crier’s voice carried back into the inn as Geralt vacillate between a nap and abandoning Jaskier.

“We should see them,” Jaskier commented as he waved Geralt over to the stairs. “You could use some entertainment.”

“Your company is enough,” the witcher replied dryly.

Jaskier faked a laugh. “I know you’re being sarcastic, but I will take the compliment.”

A few hours later, they were trudging out of the town to a nearby field where the troupe had set up their camp and stage. Night had begun to fall, chasing away the sunset with deep violet. Torches lit up around the camp as townsfolk wandered into its demarcated circle. The troupe leader began his spiel, his silky voice reaching all the ears in attendance. He was just shy of shouting, but to the witcher’s sensitive ears, it was too loud by far. He elected to tune the man out, trying to focus on anything else.

The players emerged and performed their acts. Boredom settled into the witcher’s bones. He watched a tattooed man ask the crowd which tattoo to dance.

Some drunk asked for an indecent bit. Without hesitation, the man dropped his trousers. The crowd went wild, the women shrieking and covering their eyes as the tattoo in question danced surprisingly well.

“I feel a new bawdy lyric coming on,” Jaskier laughed.

The man was ushered off the stage by the troupe leader, who did his best to salvage the evening. “Our last performer, ladies and gentlemen, is the perfect canvas for an artist’s grand imaginings. She has allowed herself to be painted by Lechforte, whose name you may know from the kingly courts. Behold the Perfect Canvas!”

You stepped out onto the stage wearing a commoner’s dress. A ripple of disapproval went through the crowd as you stood there, very little of your skin, the so-called “Perfect Canvas,” exposed.

Then you raised one hand in a grand flourish and slowly slid off the sleeve, revealing the first of the designs crawling up your arm. A hush descended over the crowd, breaths held in anticipation as bit by bit you peeled off the dress. What had appeared ordinary had, in fact, been altered to allow for you to display yourself without completely undressing, the fabric having been made into removable panels.

The witcher watched with mild interest until you turned and gently shrugged the back of your dress off, revealing a smooth swath of skin all along your spine. Geralt stiffened. Jaskier glanced aside at him, smirking, until he saw the dark cloud covering Geralt’s features.

“What is it?”

Geralt unconsciously touched his chest as his gaze darted around the platform, looking beyond the other performers to see if he could catch the sorcerer. There was no one there.

The crowd burst into applause as you swept into a low curtsy and gathered up the fabric you had shed. Geralt watched you leave, already moving to intercept you outside of the crowd’s prying gazes.

He caught you just as you were emerging from your tent, a cloak slipped over your bare shoulders. You froze, wary.

“Where did you get that tattoo?” he growled.

“Which one?”

“The one on your back.”

Frowning, you slipped the cloak off a fraction and turned to him, exposing the skin. “Which one?” Several crisscrossed your fine flesh.

His finger traced along a complex sigil on your left shoulder blade.

“I don’t have one there,” you muttered.

“I’m looking right at it.”

Racking your memory for the places Lechforte’s needle and brush had touched you, you shook your head. “You must be mistaken. I haven’t been tattooed there. Not the design you traced, at least.”

Geralt frowned, his gloved fingers lingering on the skin. You shivered in the cool night air.

“What…is it? The tattoo?”

“It’s a sigil,” he said thickly. “A sigil made by magic.”

“How do you know that?”

“I have one.” He touched the spot on his chest again. “The same one.”

You glanced at him over your shoulder. “How?”

“Magic.” Or a sorcerer who has cursed me.

“What does it mean?”

“I don’t know.”

Slipping the cloak back up your shoulders, you faced him. Your gaze flittered over his features, taking him in. “you say it was made by magic?”

He nodded.

“Then it can be undone by magic?”

“Perhaps.”

“Can only you see the tattoo?”

A crease formed between the witcher’s eyebrows. “It’s possible.”

“Then was it meant for you?”

He hesitated, surprised by the question. He searched your calm features, trying to puzzle it out. Could that be its meaning? How else could you have obtained such a tattoo?

“Take me to your artist,” he rumbled. “We’ll find out.”

#Geralt x Reader #Geralt #Geralt imagine #Geralt of Rivia x Reader #Geralt of Rivia #Geralt of Rivia imagine #Henry Cavill x Reader #Henry Cavill #Henry Cavill imagine #The Witcher #requests

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yandere-daydreams · 3 years

Text

Twelve Days of Christmas - Day Eleven

Prompt: Christmas Eve.

Pairing: Yandere!Atsumu/Reader & Yandere!Osamu/Reader (Haikyuu!!).

TW: Nonconsensual Body-Modification, Nonconsensual Touching, Imprisonment, Mentions of Bondage, Marking, and Possessive Mindsets.

“Hold still, baby.”

You weren’t sure why Atsumu bothered. Even if you’d been stupid enough to move, if you’d been naive enough to fight back, you couldn’t have, not with Osamu’s fist clamped around your wrists, Atsumu straddling your thighs, the two keeping you pinned to the bed regardless of all your writhing and squirming and pointless struggling. They didn’t have to, not really. There were a dozen pairs of handcuffs they could’ve used, a handful of coiled ropes, a few well-worn leashes, but tonight, your captors seemed to want to take a more hands-on approach. You couldn’t say you didn’t see why, but somehow, understanding did little to make the situation any more bearable.

You knew better than to misbehave, but you still jolted as the needle made contact with your skin, piercing the flesh just below your collarbone and withdrawing just as quickly, leaving little more than a bead of ink and a throbbing sting in its place. Atsumu hummed, splaying his free hand over your shoulder, but the sound was lost under the soft, constant buzz of machinery. You almost wished he’d talk, for a moment, that he’d break the near-silence just to cover up that awful, artificial noise, but you couldn’t bring yourself to be thankful when he actually did. Not when his tone was too smug for his empathy to be believable. “Wouldn’t want to mess this up, right? Tell ‘em, Osamu.”

You tried to glance down, to get a better look at what he was doing, but Osamu only caught you by the jaw, tilting your head back and forcing you to stare up at him while Atsumu worked. He’d explained that earlier, how they both wanted this to be a surprise, how you shouldn’t be able to see your gift until midnight and it was finally, finally finished. You had to wonder if they were drawing it out on purpose, with that in mind. You had to wonder if either of them really cared enough to try, or if the sadism just came naturally. “If you’re gonna, it’d be better if you could wait another minute or two,” Osamu started, as Atsumu cursed under his breath. “He’s doin’ mine, right now, and I know I’m your favorite. You can ruin Atsumu’s, if you want to.”

His playful lilt was obvious, accompanied by a lazy, careless smirk, but Atsumu still took a moment to glare, letting his needle plunge just a little too deep and leaving you jerking against Osamu, a stifled whimper forcing itself through your lips at the abrupt (albeit mild) pain. The sting seemed to get worse, too, turning from a jittery awareness to an incessant burn, but if Atsumu cared about the way you shrunk into yourself, he didn’t bother pausing, only hushing you as he worked on the next intricate, swirling line. “Your favorite’s distractin’ me,'' He grunted, choosing to ignore Osamu’s snicker. “Take it out on him if anything goes wrong. I don’t want to spend Christmas with a sulkin’ brat.”

“I don’t--” You tried to speak, only to be cut off by your own choked breath, the air hitching in your throat. Osamu clicked his tongue, drawing slow, deep circles into your cheek as a gesture he must’ve thought was comforting, but Atsumu didn’t seem affected. Or, he didn’t let your implied opposition get in his way, at least. “It’s starting to hurt--”

“Obviously,” Atsumu scoffed, pulling his needle away, the machine attached to it clicking off. You allowed yourself a sigh, but the relief was short lived, ending as soon as you felt him shifting backwards, a hand slipping under the waistline of your shorts. Your heart skipped a beat, dread forming a tight ball in your chest, but luckily, he only tugged at the fabric, edging it down just enough to uncover his next target. “But, I know my sweetheart can handle a little tattoo. Osamu fucks you up worse than this ever could whenever I leave the two of you alone.”

Your hipbone. You could feel it, Atsumu moving diagonally, just a little more eager than he was, before. Half-heartedly, you tried to thrash, aiming to buck him away or twist out of Osamu’s grip, but there wasn’t much you could do, not when all it took was a low growl on Osamu’s part to free you from that small bit of faith. He didn’t bare his teeth, but he didn’t have to, not when the threat was already familiar, not when you already knew what would happen if you ruined his brother’s fun. This wasn’t the worst option. This would stop hurting, eventually. You couldn’t say the same for all the scars he’d already left, the ones that seemed to smolder every time you got on his bad side. “We’re only gonna make you look a little prettier,” He mumbled, when you’d calmed down, as if that’d do anything to soothe your nerves. “Plus, we’ll never have to hear ‘stumu whine about it again. He might finally stop leavin’ all those ugly marks on ya.”

“Look at that jerk, pretendin’ he ain’t twice as bad.” Atsumu was laughing, again, but he didn’t let it disturb him. He’d gotten the hang of it now, moving quickly, daring to add an extra swirl, there, another loop, some embellishment that only worked to prolong the grueling process. “Don’t listen to him. He’s just as excited to have you all marked up as I am, and once I’m done, he’s not gonna be able to keep his hands to himself. You’re just gonna look that cute, when you’re all mine.”

“All ours,” Osamu corrected, squeezing your wrists absent-mindedly. He moved to go on, but he was interrupted by the chime of an alarm, too loud to be missed and too sudden not to catch all of you off-guard. Fishing his phone off the nightstand, Osamu waited for Atsumu to nod before he switched it off, Atsumu’s kit following shortly after. The buzzing died out, but Atsumu took a spare moment to lean down, pressing a fleeting kiss into the raw skin he’d just finished dying.

He didn’t pull away, as he spoke. “Show ‘em, ‘samu.”

You almost wished they hadn’t, that they’d kept it from you for just another hour, that they’d let you live in the hopeful delusion that it was anything but what you already knew it was. You didn’t have to search, not with Osamu’s hand still clamped around your chin, guiding you to the line of stark, bold text engraved in your collarbone, pitch back and just as eye-catching it’s twin at your hip. Just as unignorable. Just as terrible. Just as monstrous.

Osamu and Atsumu. One written across your collar, the other at your hip.

Their names, tattooed onto your skin. A display of ownership as permanent as it was sickening.

You felt light-headed. You felt like you were going to collapse. You might’ve, if Osamu hadn’t taken the opportunity to let go of your wrists and run his fingers over his name, salt poured into an open wound. A sob racked through your chest, tears beginning to blur your vision, but he only smiled. “Don’t be shy. Tell us what you think, angel.”

It wasn’t a question. It was an order, and there was only one right answer.

“It’s perfect.”

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jaws-and-canines · 2 years

Text

The Re-education of Haskell Haveter, #9

A Count The Days story. Content warning for in-depth references to a fictional mind control system, referenced torture and blood and bruises.

---

Anton

The saving grace of Anton Fennec is that he is good at his job. Not just good, very good.

He knows when to hurt someone and when to comfort them. He knows when to make them bleed, and he knows when to stop.

Unlike some people, he thinks, mildly annoyed Ida has ignored his request for a meeting so far. Mildly annoyed is as far as he gets. He refocuses on his work.

He puts a hand under the prisoner’s chin, turns his face from one side, to the other, inspecting his work. “Alright,” he says. “Alright. You’ve had enough.”

The prisoner sobs a thank you as Fennec dumps the tools that are bloody in the pot of pink disinfectant on his tools trolley. “What did I teach you today?” he asks, taking a bottle of water from the trolley and pouring it into a metal dish, soaking a flannel in it.

The prisoner slurs something, a mumbled response. “A little louder for me, please,” says Fennec, and starts wiping the man’s bruises with a gentle brush of the flannel. The prisoner tries to say something again, and Fennec stops wiping down the colourful bruises, withholding the relief of the cool flannel for a moment until the man manages to pull himself together. “That if… if they call my name, I have to look at them,” he says hoarsely.

“Good,” Fennec says flatly and goes back to wiping down the man’s ruined back again.

The wiping of bruises and wounds with a cool flannel is a standard workflow, at least following the Pavlov re-education schema that Fennec follows. It's a temporary relief, something that only lasts as long as the technician is actively doing it. Teaching the subject that the technician is the one who brings pain, and the one who allows respite, and that their actions- or refusal to obey- are directly responsible for both.

This particular subject has been months of work. He is doing exceptionally well, responding perfectly. And when Fennec asks a question with a careful withhold of the flannel, the prisoner understands to answer. And he understands to get it right.

So Fennec continues wiping down aching bruises, the man leaning into his hand like a cat grateful for a human to brush up against.

Fennec doesn’t smile or feel anything towards the subject, not particularly- he sees his work, and he sees it as an art, and these men are nothing but paintings to him.

But just the same as you wouldn't ruin an oil painting with black ink, the prisoners demand a certain degree of respect and careful attention, which he is always careful to afford them.

His leg twinges, making him twitch, and he has to stop briefly, rubbing the old injury.

He tries to continue, but again, that awful twinge, and he has to stop to catch his breath. “I am sorry, I cannot continue,” he says to his subject. “I will call for someone to take you back.” He stands up with a grunt through pursed lips, paling, and lurches over to the heavy iron door to bang on it.

The guards come with a scrape of keys in the lock, and Fennec sits back down and lets them take his prisoner. He can't stand for long, not in this state.

His leg is not a particularly reliable thing. It just goes. Suddenly and unexpectedly, like somebody flicked a switch, that terrible neuralgia knocks his breath from him. And then it doesn’t stop for half a day.

He turns to Munroe. “I need my painkillers,” he says simply. "I can't make it back to my room alone. You'll have to help."

Captain Munroe laughs at him. “Ask me nicely, Anton, and I might consider it.”

Fennec cringes, withdrawing into himself. “I would like my painkillers. Please. Please, I would like them and I need your help.” He keeps his head down, not quite pleading, but almost.

The Captain taps him on the cheek. "Good boy," he says with a smile.

I am not a dog, he wants to shout. He wants to bite back, humiliate the Captain. But he doesn't.

He swallows his broken pride.

They have to half-carry him back to his room, his arms around their shoulders, his face covered in a sickly sheen of sweat.

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writtenjewels · 3 years

Text

In Bed

Hytham was grateful that Eivor warned of soreness-- when he woke the next morning he could feel it, though it was only a mild discomfort. Nothing compared with the pleasure he felt as he and Eivor crossed that final boundary. There would be no hiding that he and Eivor were lovers now. The thought made him a bit nervous. How would the rest of the clan react to him now? What would Basim say once he found out? Their brotherhood did not discourage such things. Whatever Basim's reaction, Hytham doubted it would be disapproving.

He and Eivor ended the night on their sides facing each other. At some point during the night one or both of them must have shifted: now Eivor was on their back with an arm around Hytham, while Hytham was on top. He carefully moved so he would be on Eivor's side again. Eivor grunted and tried to pull him back in place.

“Eivor? Are you awake?”

“I am now,” the Dane responded, though they kept their eyes closed. “I could feel you trying to leave my bed.”

“It is morning. There is work to be done.”

“It is the morning after a wedding,” Eivor corrected him. Their hand slid up his back to cup the back of his head, bringing his face down for a kiss. Eivor missed his lips the first time but after a few tries made contact. “No one will be doing much work. Stay and warm my bed; it is too cold without you.”

“Then how do you keep warm when you are away from Ravensthorpe?” Hytham teased them. That got Eivor to open their eyes. They gave Hytham the smile that had initially captured his heart.

“My bones freeze the moment I am away from you and I only thaw again once I see your face.”

“I see you are a poet from the first moment you wake.” Still, the words made Hytham blush. Eivor tried pulling him back and this time Hytham allowed it. He was highly aware of how this change in position had him sitting on Eivor's waist. He couldn't seem to stop the rush of heat and desire, and was soon aware of Eivor's body reacting to him in the same way.

Eivor didn't ask in words, but Hytham could see the want in their eyes. They ran their hands up his thighs to his hips and then around to his ass. Again? But Hytham wasn't sure if it was his own lust or Eivor's that startled him. Yes, he did want it again, to push his body to take it despite the added discomfort and soreness. Could he, though? Eivor had taken him in the best position to cause his body the least amount of strain, but even then surely twice in so many hours would be pushing his limit.

“Drink mead to stay warm, Wolf-Kissed,” Hytham told them. “Your bed tempts me to do more than my body can handle.”

“It is a wise man who knows his limits.” Eivor reluctantly released him. Hytham eased his way off the Dane's body and out of bed. He regretted it the moment he was out from under the covers: the air was cold, chilling his naked body.

Hytham dressed slowly and only once he was done did he turn back to Eivor. The Dane was still in bed with every inch of their body on display. It was an obvious invitation to look; Hytham took it, studying the dark ink of his lover's tattoos against the Dane's pale skin. He'd been too preoccupied last night to really notice them. Now he could see that they were different from the last time.

“That looks like an eagle,” Hytham observed, nodding to the tattoo on Eivor's chest.

“You wear a symbol of my clan,” Eivor pointed out. They lifted their fingers to trace the raven tattooed on Hytham's abdomen. “I thought it fair I should wear a symbol of yours.”

“This is the symbol of my clan.” Hytham pointed to the Hidden One mark that the raven perched on. “Though I do not think you are ready to bear such a mark. The eagle is enough.” And it is my name. No, he wouldn't put such a sentimental meaning to the gesture. “Will you be staying in bed all day?” Hytham wondered, to change the subject.

“I intended to, but my lover will not stay with me. Alas, without him I must rise to face the day.” Eivor scrunched their face in mock pain.

“It sounds like your lover is good for you,” Hytham remarked in amusement. “He keeps you from being lazy.”

“That he does.” Eivor sat up, brushing their lips against Hytham's cheek in a brief kiss. “If he will permit it, I would like to warm his bed tonight.”

“Not yours?”

“No.” Eivor's eyes glimmered. “I need to show him how to linger the morning after.”

“Your lessons in laziness will fall on deaf ears,” Hytham warned, “but I will not protest in having you near. I will permit you inside me once more.”

Though they were alone, Eivor still leaned in and pressed their lips to Hytham's ear and whispered their response: “And I will permit you to take me as yours.”

#eivor x hytham #eivor wolfkissed #hytham

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putseraphinaonthaphone · 3 years

Text

Groupchat pt. I

CW// recreational drug use, group sex, poly dynamics, virgin reader, queer reader who uses she/her pronouns and feminine descriptors, intoxicated sex

It was an interesting group of friends that you had. Well, 'friends' was a stretch, but you had a groupchat. The name was simply 'fuckers' because for some reason Bakugou was allowed to name the chat. You had the same group of stoners you ended up partying with every weekend, getting high off the strongest shit you could buy and letting loose to work off the stress of the week. It was cliche but true, you blew off steam getting high and dancing like a slut-- self care. Somehow it had evolved to more of a four person party that wasn't really a party, but you played music, smoked, and the boys watched you dance while devouring the healthy but tasty food you prepared because when you're high everything tastes 100 times better and you'd been on a restricted diet because of your chronic health issues since you were a teenager. When you'd explained this in the group chat, the most concise response you got was "so you'll cook for us?" Stoners were just your people honestly. Or maybe it was these stoners.

Bakugou mellowed out considerably after a few blunts, and he offered to blow up whoever made you cry the first time you met coming out of a party to smoke after you had a call with your best friend from back home. He'd told you that your dynamic as friends only worked if he was single. You didn't know if you'd ever have another friend like him. And there was Bakugou, offering you a blunt and violence that seemed like just the kind of friendship you craved in that moment.

Shinsou was one of the few people who came to the party simply to find people to smoke with. He rarely talked, but he was really good company you thought. He always brought indica strains-- your personal favorite as well as his you found out. Sometimes you guys talked about how it was cruel to have so many dreams but so little energy to pursue them. Sometimes you guys went back to his place and smoked yourself into a sleepy haze that always ended up in the warmest cuddles you've ever experienced.

Dabi had a viper's tongue and an even worse attitude than Bakugou. But he was cool, you bumped into him at a party when you were looking for another smoker to borrow a light from. You were feeling caustic after a phone call from home. "You got a lighter bro?" He seemed a bit amused by your masculine energy wrapped in a lush femme presenting form, like he was relieved to finally seeing someone interesting. "You look like you got all sorts of daddy issues, why haven't we met before?" His tone was both flirtatious and condescending at the time. "Whatever gave it away?" You snorted as you lit up your blunt, white grape game wrappers. But your tone was flirtatous as well as you handed your blunt to him, "We're meeting now. To shitty dads who deserve to sleep in the bed they made."

Shoto was the anomaly. You saw him around your department, guessing he was an upperclassman in your major. And one day he was at Dabi's place when you all got together to celebrate finally getting an off campus hangout spot. Apparently Dabi was an old friend, kind of like an older brother to Shoto. They definitely had a thing going on, but thinking about it too long made your face burn. His preppy appearance was shattered when he wore a short sleeve shirt instead of his usual button downs, and you saw the traditional japanese tattoos that made a full sleeve in white ink. You also noticed his silver gauges that were almost hidden by his white hair and when he pushed his hair back you saw more piercings on his ears. But when he smoked you under the table you decided you were almost in love.

If you happened to hope that one day at least one of the hot but dumb fuckers you smoked with took the hint of your many personal dance shows and fucked you, that was no one's business but your own.

You worked through the week, bullshitting assignments- but well because you were a fucking genius in your field, and on friday you decided to just wear a bra, shorts and an over shirt to the party with a beanie on your shaved head to complete the look. The pregame was at Shoto and Dabi's place this time, a short walk if you thought about the liquor and weed waiting for you. You weren't prepared for the brisk wind to meet you when you stepped out of your dorm.

"Hoes don't get cold." You chanted under your breath as you started walking. Your construction boots kept your feet warm, but the black booty shorts that were frayed at the edges left your lush thighs and your entire legs exposed to the cold wind. But after a few more minutes of walking you gave up- you weren't a good enough hoe, and you were cold. So you bit the bullet and put into the group chat:

smokerdeepthroat 11:19pm

Someone come pick me up, I'm freezing my literal ass off.

blueflamer 11:22pm

Walk bitch.

boomboi 11:24

Cash gas or ass, you know the drill.

smokerdeepthroat 11:25

Y'all can run a train on my ass if someone just picks me up before I freeze to death.

sleepystoner, icyhot, boomboi, blueflamer | read

Shit. You hadn't actually meant to send that. And of course the one time Shinsou checks the chat had to be now. "Fuckers," you grumbled under your breath. At this point it was almost like calling them your boys in a fond tone, and that thought had you almost puking onto the concrete. The fact that you were blushing was completely irrelevant.

Before you could freak out too much- internally of course, you were not going to be caught simping with one of them on the way to pick you up- you heard the familiar roar of Bakugou's car coming down the street. The bass of his emo ass rock music shook the street and you were climbing into the car before he could yell at you to get your ass inside.

You might have moaned at the heated seats, rubbing your hands over your freezing thighs. "Thanks Bakubro. It's cold as fuck and I was too excited to pregame to bring a jacket."

"A jacket isn't the problem. Your ass is hanging out." His words as usual were followed by a plume of smoke. His crimson eyes trailed over your body and a heated smirk curved his lips. "But that just means easier access for us."

"Y'all dusty ass hoes know I was joking-" You tried to bluff, tried to deflect with bravado as you took the blunt from him. But your hands shook, and Bakugou met your gaze with a quiet intensity that was somehow worse than his explosions.

"You dance like you need a dick in you. And only for us. We waited for you to make your choice, but this is less complicated." Damn it, he was smoking the horny weed. But if you were honest all weed was horny weed to your squad. There was an eroticism in the craving just one more hit. Just one more epic high. Just one more shudder of pleasure, as touching yourself to the thought of the boy's eyes on you when you got back to your dorm was as much a part of your friday night ritual as the weed.

Whenever you started smoking you felt yourself happily descending into hedonism. Bakugou's voice certainly wasn't helping. Your throat was impossibly dry- from the smoke, from desire- as you admitted quietly,

"I'm a virgin." You weren't going to apologize, compromise or argue. It was a statement and he could take it or leave it.

Bakugou wasn't an idiot. But he also was a possessive bastard in a way that made you wet even though you rolled your eyes at it.

"I'll make it good for you when I pop your cherry. I met you first, I'll take you first. I got you." It wasn't a promise, it was confident statement you knew he would stop at nothing to make a reality. His relentlessness was something that drew you to him in the first place if you told yourself the truth. He shifted gears smoothly and rested his warm hand on your bare thigh as he drove you back to the off campus house. You smoked half the blunt listening to his music and getting wet from his hands wandering higher and higher up your thigh.

You walked in to the house and realized how much you'd underestimated how serious Bakugou's words were. It seemed like it was a long time coming when you walked into Dabi's low lit living room to find him with his hand on Shoto's dick, Shoto's hand on his, and Shinsou lazily palming himself.

"It's about time you got here, you can't just drop shit like that in the chat when you're not here to bend over for us." Shoto's white and red hair was a mess, and given that it looked like the two of them were edging each other (sadists), his fucked out face made sense.

"She's a virgin, Icy Hot, you're gonna have to wait. I gotta open her up first." You in the mean time were going to start the music while smoking a bit hurriedly, hoping you were well and truly high before they actually started to run a train on you.

"Play the dick down playlist." Shinsou rasped from the couch and you wanted to cry at the head assery you had to put up with from these morons. (/s) But they're your morons, some lonely part of you whispered.

"It actually better have good music on it." You griped, but yeah, you were feeling the impact of whatever Bakugou had given you to smoke because your words weren't as harsh as you meant them to be.

"I call dibs on her ass cherry." Dabi's low voice cut throat the soft grunts from Shoto.

"Next time." Bakugou muttered watching the way you started to dance, having shed your overshirt to simply dance in your shorts and bra. None of the boys danced with you, a rule you'd had to put in place when they literally started fighting like children over who's turn it was to dance with you. Somehow it hadn't gotten better, these jealous bitches would sulk if you didn't give them all equal attention during your provocative performance. You solved this by closing your eyes and not looking at any of them while you let your body follow the nasty beat of the playlist. Sometimes you murmured lyrics if you remembered them and all four men were enraptured by the sight of you surrounded by smoke and dancing like a ancient goddess that could command them all in an instant.

It was moments like these that made you think maybe you were all a little more than friends by now. More than just groupchat contacts. But friends. Maybe more?

The blunt you finished yourself, until you were light headed and craving more. More music, more bass to move your hips too, maybe something to move your hips against. You didn't hesitate when Bakugou patted his thighs.

In fact, the weed in your system convinced you it only made sense to take your shorts off before straddling him. Better that than having to stop just when you're finally getting what you want right? You forgot you were just wearing some lace boyshorts with pale pink roses framing your luscious curves and dusky skin until you heard;

"Slutty girl." It was a groan as Shoto's grip on Dabi's cock tightened from the view of your fat ass sitting on Bakugou's lap.

"Nah, not yet. She's just needy." Katsuki smirked when you blushed from his words, even as you started grinding down on him in revenge. The choked moan that escaped him and the cocky glare you turned on all of them made all of them crave you that much more.

"You're needy to fuck me too, you all are. Don't forget that, explosion bitch."

"Point made. But watch it, little girl. It's gonna be a long night." His words were low and raspy from smoke, and even thought it should have been a threat your pussy gushed and soaked your panties anyway.

Four pairs of eyes watched your every move, drinking in the sight of you half naked, boldly staking your claim on all of them-- which only made them want to return the favor. Claiming you over and over until you wouldn't deny you belonged to them.

A long night, huh?

To be continued.....

#bakugou x reader #shinsou x reader #dabi x reader #shoto x reader #tw dubcon #tw dark content #tw: dubcon #tw: pseudoincest #tw: recreational drug use #tw: degradation #tw: kink

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world-of-aus · 4 years

Text

New Beginnings

Pairing: Mobster!Bucky Barnes x Mobster!Reader / Mobster!Brock Rumlow x Mobster!Reader

Word Count: 4,837

Warnings: talk of domestic abuse(it hints at it so if you are not comfortable i would recommend not reading, Brock being an ass, some wholesome Bucky Barnes content, and reader being a badass.

Author’s Note: My third request sent in by the lovely @morganclaire4! Two more requests sit in my inbox, almost there! This was so much fun to write and i can’t thank you enough for sending this in! I’m trying daily to improve on my storytelling and i couldn’t help but to spice it up a bit and add some story for you! I hope you enjoy what i compiled for you! There will be an update for Behind the Screen Tomorrow, Family Matters the day after, and my fourth request will be out after that!

“ Hey! I have a request for Mob!Bucky. I was thinking maybe Bucky is married to the reader. Shes always been in a mob and she was married off to another man but Bucky got her out. Whenever Bucky comes home, she is always dressed up (makeup and everything) even if she didn’t go anywhere and she always has dinner made when he walks in. One day he asks her why she’s always doing that. She tells him that it was always expected of her. He tells her that she doesn’t have to do that every night.”

Find My Other Works Here: Main Masterlist

Your heels clicked against the tiled floor, a determination in your stride. The Kraft clasp envelope weighing heavy in your hand as you move forward. You passed the common room Steve and Sam spotting you. “Good morning boys,” was your simple yet quick greeting as you walked past them.

Hurried feet chased after you, Steve’s hand falling to your shoulder bringing you to an abrupt stop, “Steven let me go,” you murmured eyes falling to his hand before sliding up to meet his.

“Y/n he’s in a meeting,” he tried.

“I’m well aware Steve, but he’s also in a meeting with my father, and my scum of an ex-husband those are the ones I’m here to see, not him,”

“Y/n-”

“Steve just like you are Bucky’s right-hand man, I am my father’s, and as my father’s right hand I must inform him of any occurrences going on that could be affecting family business and or bringing harm to one of our own, now if you would please, I need to step into that office to speak with my father,”

He’s eyeing you then, before a sigh is leaving his lips, Bucky could very well have his head for interrupting them, “fine but I'm coming with, at least so it looks like I tried to stop you,”

A smile is tugging at your lips, “oh Steven there is no stopping the hell that is about to rain down on him,”

Steve shocked by your words watches you slide his hand from your shoulder before continuing down the hall. Your head is turning slightly, “You coming Steve,”

You make it to the end of the hall your manicured hand wrapping around the doorknob, as you twist it open the force in which you push it causes it to bang against the wall. Three sets of eyes fall to your calm form, “Father, James, Brock,” you hiss through your teeth, eyes turning to slits as they fall to him.

“Y/n sweetheart,” you father coughs, “to what do we owe the pleasure, we’re just finishing wrapping up a meeting, can this wait” you’ve embarrassed him, good.

Your eyes turn to your fathers a sickening sweet smile pulling at your lips, “actually father, it can’t, you s-”

“y/n sweetheart, the men are talking, I'm sure whatever meaningless thing you have to say can wait till we’re done,” Your eyes are fitting back to Rumlow the grip on the envelope tightening.

“that’s sweet,” you coo, “but you lost the privilege to so much as utter one word to me the second you laid a hand on me,” you flung the envelope at him, “sign the papers Brock!”

Your father is sitting up straighter in his seat, and you can visibly see Bucky’s jaw clenching, “excuse me,” your father speaks up, “what is this about, sign what papers?”

“I’m sorry but it seems your daughter has lost her damn mind,” Rumlow hisses eyes glaring daggers.

“oh fuck you Brock!”

“y/n,” your dad is seething, “that is enough you will not speak to him like that, that is your husband and you must respect him!”

“It’s ex-husband,” you grunt “or at least it should have been,” you muttered looking at your father, lI'm not going to be silenced anymore father, not by you, and definitely not by you,” you hiss pointing an accusing finger at Brock.

Rumlow is standing then the chair he previously occupied falling to the floor with a loud bang as he moves over to you hands gripping your face roughly. Your father and Bucky push to their feet, your father shouting angrily, Bucky about ready to leap over his desk and murder Brock where he stands. Steve is pressed up against your back, “go ahead Rumlow,” you grit, “show them what really went on behind closed doors, show them why because of you I was never able to physically present myself at meetings because there wasn’t enough makeup to cover the bruising you left behind,”

“Brock what is she talking about,” your father growled behind him, “did you lay a hand on her?” your father’s question went unanswered.

“What the fuck do you want y/n,” he hisses voice low, “did I not give you enough, was there not enough money to buy your fucking happiness,”

“Our marriage was one of convenience Brock, an agreement between our fathers so that they could continue to do shady shit without losing any more men,” you hissed, “I didn’t have a say in my future, much less the man I was to spend the rest of my days with, it wasn’t even a marriage certificate I signed that afternoon, it was a damn contract that was written up in the small office of the towns lawyer,”

“Marrying me should have been enough y/n,” he grunted shaking your chin with the hold he had on you, “you had all the money happiness could buy you,”

“Our marriage,” you growled, “should have been a deep and loving friendship, one so strong that you would give your life for me, the way I was to do for you, instead I overlooked your shady lies and “in the dark” actions opting to turn the other eye, I overlooked how you enjoyed the company of various other women more than my own, you made a mockery of me, blaming me for the beatings you would bestow on me, you abused my innocence, abused the love I tried so hard to have for you, well no more Brock,” you grunted pushing your hands into his chest roughly to send him back, Steve moved to the front of you then still leaving Brock in your sight, “I will no longer allow you to hold me bound to you, I no longer want any association with you, and if that means breaking that contract, then so be it, my father and I can find another way to deal with the likes of your men, now sign the damn papers!”

The room fell into silence, “what the hell is going on Rumlow,” Bucky questioned from in front of you, he looks absolutely deadly.

Brock is still staring you down, his tongue running along the inside of his mouth, “apparently y/n felt the need to air the dirty laundry,” a laugh escapes his lips, “bitch didn’t know how to get rid of me, guess she felt the need to go to extreme measures,”

“Did you lay a hand on my daughter,” your father is grunting moving towards the taller man,” Brock is turning to face your father than, “did much more than that,” he hissed, “had her begging me every night to-”

“chose your next words carefully Brock,” Bucky growled eyes growing dark, “unless you’d like me to unload a bullet right between your eyes.”

Four sets of eyes watched Brock move back to where he had sat, hands picking up the envelope as he tore into it. A moment of relief washed over you as he snatched a pen from Bucky’s desk black ink running over the contract. Throwing the pen back onto the desk he moved over to you crowding your and Steve’s space, “he’ll grow tired of you two you know, preparing dinner each night, and making yourself up every single day will only get you so far y/n, there was a reason I found comfort in other women, they provided me the one thing you couldn’t,” he leaned in further.

“ENOUGH RUMLOW!” Bucky growled as he rounded the desk appearing on the opposite side of where your now ex-husband stood. Brock raised his hands in mock defense as he backed away from you, feet moving him towards the door, “I can take a hint Barnes,” he muttered as he stepped out of the room, “gentleman I would say it was a pleasure doing business with you, and I look forward to seeing you again, but that won’t be the case,” he turns to lock eyes with you one last time, “I do hope ridding yourself of me was worth it y/n.”

The room falls quiet at the sound of the door clicking closed behind him, “Steve get her home, her father and I need to have a word,” your eyes are shooting to Bucky, though for the first time since you could remember he’s refusing to meet yours.

“Bucky, I-”

“Steve now please.” Bucky gets out in a strained voice.

You don’t get the chance to argue as Steve turns his body into yours, hands guiding you out of the room.

Your quiet as Steve guides you out of the office, quiet when he tucks you into the car, quiet when he leads you into your shared home with Bucky.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Is his question from where he stands at the door.

A sigh leaves your lips, the truth was out there, no need to hide it now, “I lived in fear Steve,” you began, “I’d be lucky if there was a day or two between his lash-outs, I felt weak, alone, he really did buy my silence,”

“Why didn’t you say just say something to Bucky, he would of done something from the very start, he was taken with you from the very beginning y/n, you know that,”

How could you forget.

“Don’t stray to far y/n, I have some business to attend to,” Brock grunted low in your ear before he was removing himself from you. You made your way towards the bar, but your eyes remained trained on his back.

“So is your husband the only one allowed to have fun at these things?”

A smile pulls at the corner of your lips but you hide it well behind a glass of wine, “do you have a death wish Barnes, or do you just like to play with fire?” You questioned eyes still trained on Brocks back where’s he crowding one of the many girls in Pierces area.

A low chuckle is leaving his lips, one that has a shiver rolling down your exposed back, “we all know this life can be short, so why not have some fun.”

“Flirting with a married woman is not my definition of fun,”

He’s sliding closer to you his back to the scene your watching closely, “well lucky for you I’m not a woman, nor am I married,”

Soft laughter fell from your lips, “always the charmer,”

“It’s a shame, your father and my father couldn’t meet, I’d be walking you around this room like a crowned jewel,”

Your heart skipped a beat in your chest, “James,” it comes as a warning.

He leans further into the bar the coat of his jacket brushing your arm, “your unhappy doll, he doesn’t treat you right, look where you are and where he is, in the arms of another women, a damn shame if you ask me,” you have no idea you thought.

“Well then it’s a damn shame your father didn’t meet with my father sooner,”

Bucky chuckled a shake of his head, “someday soon you’re going to see your worth y/n and I’m going to be the one to show it to you.”

And for the first time since Brock left your side since arriving your eyes are finally leaving his back to flit over to the man next to you, “don’t make promises you don’t intend to keep Buck,” you murmured voice low.

His eyes are finding yours in the dim room, his face illuminated by the low lights of the bar, “I’m a man of my word y/n, and you and I both now I don’t back down on my promises,” he leans in towards you, “especially if that promises involves you,”

Your breath catches in your throat, your heart steadily beating away in your chest. You watch him push off the bar, fingers curling around his drink, “I’ll see you around y/n,” he murmurs a sly grin and wink thrown in your direction.

“He knew how Rumlow was, he just didn’t know to what extent, nobody knew though,” you argued, “not even my own father knew,”

“Is that why you would push him away, fight his advances,” he questions, “because if you say you weren’t taken with him from the beginning as well I’d say you were a horrible liar,”

“I was taken with him Steve and that was the problem,” you cried, “Rumlow picked up on the happiness Bucky brought me, as much as I wanted to run into his arms Rumlow had eyes everywhere!”

“goddamnit y/n,” Bucky growled, “why are you fighting this so hard, why can’t you just admit you feel it too,”

Your heart raced away in your chest, “James, you don’t know what you’re feeling, what I'm feeling,” what I'm going through you thought, “I can’t keep doing this.”

“So then why are you here?” he questioned angrily, “why do you come when I call, tell me why?”

Tears pulled at your eyes, you were hurting in more ways than one, “I don’t know,” you whispered voice wavering from the tears threatening to spill over.

“Bullshit y/n, you know why, why do you keep doing this,” he questioned exasperatedly, “why do you keep pushing me away just tell me why,”

The first tear fell then, another, and another, “look at you y/n,” he murmured, “your hurting, and I know it’s not because of me, what is he doing to you?”

You wanted to tell him, wanted to scream it out to the world what he was doing, but who would believe you? Brock had assured you every night that nobody would believe you, so why would Bucky be any exception.

Bucky crossed the carpeted room, hands finding there way to your face where he wiped away the tears from your cheeks, “tell me what you need me to do y/n, you know I’ll do anything for you, you just have to say the word,”

More tears filled your eyes sliding down your cheeks, “you can’t Bucky,” you murmured lips wobbling, “you need to go,”you whispered hand finding its way to Bucky’s chest, heart beating steadily under your fingers.

“You don’t mean that y/n,” he tries.

Your shaking your head, the tears still streaming steadily, “please Bucky I can’t, I can’t do this anymore,”

His face falls, and it pains your heart more than any pain Rumlow could ever inflict on you, “you don’t mean that y/n, you know you don’t,”

A sob tears through you, “Bucky please.”

“Is that what you really want,” he questions quietly, “do you really want me to go, because if this is it, this is it y/n, I don’t have it in me to keep doing this back and forth with you,” your heart breaks in your chest because you don’t want this to be the end, but you need to do things right, you won’t have a man fight your battle for you, you won’t be weak any longer.

“i’m sorry Bucky.”

“He shakes his head, “I’m sorry too,” he murmurs pressing a kiss to your head, he moves away from you his feet carrying him towards the door, how badly you wanted to go with him, he turns to face you one last time, “I'll see you around doll, sorry I couldn’t hold up my end of the promise.”

More tears fall from your eyes, a choked sob of his name falls from your lips as you restrain yourself from running to him, it had to be like this, you had to do this right.

He gives you one last teary smile before the door is closing behind him.

“He was a mess you know, that night after you told him you couldn’t see him anymore, I had never seen a man more distraught, and I just couldn’t understand why, I saw the love you had for him,”

A shaky sigh leaves your lips as you wipe away at the tears you hadn’t realized stained your cheeks, “that night that I told Bucky I couldn’t do this anymore I was really telling myself I couldn’t,” you pause, “I couldn’t take anymore of Rumlow’s abuse whether it had been emotional or physical I just couldn’t Bucky had shown me what real love was, how I should be loved,”

“so then why did you push him away?” he questioned.

“had Bucky found out what Rumlow was doing, he would have had him six feet under before he could even give an explanation, much less a single word out, I didn’t want Bucky to know because this was my battle to fight, I had been weak for so long, having Bucky fight this for me would only add to it, and I wanted to go about it right Steve, I wanted to do it so I no longer had any tie to Rumlow, if I wanted to do this with Bucky which I did, I wanted to do it right,”

“so that evening you showed up to the office when I was heading out you had settled things,”

“yeah, or at least I thought I had,” you murmured.

Shaky legs lead you to the building doors, your heart racing away in your weary chest. Your hands reach for the brass handles but the door pushing open has you stepping back. Steve appearing, he takes a look at you and you catch the moment his defenses go up, “what are you doing here y/n?”

“I need to talk to Bucky,”

Steve’s shaking his head as he steps out of the building his body blocking your entrance, “I think you said enough, I'm not letting you hurt him anymore y/n, he hasn’t been himself and it's been a month!”

Your heart is breaking in your chest, “Steve I just need to talk to him, five minutes that’s all I'm asking, I need to explain myself to him, at least give me that,” you tried.

“why should I give you that chance, when you couldn’t even give him the chance y/n, It wouldn’t be fair, you’re just going to break him further If I let you go in there,” Steve argued.

“Steve please,” you pleaded, “I promise, I just need five minutes, I'm not going to do anything to hurt him any further, I just need five minutes,”

A sigh is leaving Steve’s lips, his demeanor falling, “five minutes y/n,” he grunts moving aside to pull open the door, “but I swear if you leave him in worse condition than he already is, I won’t hesitate to send Romanoff to pay you a visit,”

Any other day you would have thrown him a sarcastic remark in regards to his threat about Natasha, but with the situation between you and Bucky you knew his words were not to be taken lightly.

“he’s in his office,” he adds as you walk past him, “I hope you fix whatever is going on between the both of you, for both of your sake’s”

“I hope so too,” you murmur the shuts softly as you continue forward. The closer you get to his office the more your legs threaten to give in from under you. You could do this, if you were able to overcome all the hell Rumlow had put you through, you could surely do this.

Bringing a shaky hand up to the door, you knocked softly, Bucky’s muffled voice calling you in. You sucked in a breath before moving forward your hand twisting the knob. The air around you grew tense as you walked into the office, the door falling closed behind you. Bucky’s eyes were unreadable, his glare intent on your unmoving form. “what are you doing here y/n?”

“I need to talk to you,”

He scoffed fingers rubbing at his eyes as he pushed away from the desk to stand from his cushioned chair, “you want to talk now, you had the chance a little more than a month ago to talk,”

You watch him move around his desk as he gather’s his things, “Just give me five minutes to explain myself please,”

His eyes glance up at you, his expression bored, “now why should I do that, y/n when I told you this was it, I meant it, I can’t do this,” he gestured between the two of you, “anymore,”

“Bucky please,” you plead, “five minutes that’s all I'm asking,”

“why y/n, why?” he grunts, “I constantly asked and asked things of you, for you, and you never gave me the time, now why should I do it for you?”

“Because I just need you to listen, I need you to listen because I love you,”

The papers he had in his hands fall to the desk, his jaw clenching, “don’t you dare y/n,” he growls, “don’t you dare throw those words around if you don’t-” he looks away from you fists clenching as he tries to contain himself.

You breathed in deeply, if you were going to say something, now was the time, you only hoped he would hear you.

“Bucky the last time we met, I know I hurt you, but you have to understand it was hurting me to do what I had to do I-”

“Then why did you do it?” he growled, “why are you standing here right now confessing your love for me, it surely wasn’t there a month ago, what changed?”

“I had to do it because I needed to do things right” you argued, “I was going through things James, and I needed to do things right for my sake,”

“you say you needed to do things right yet you were willing to mess up the ONE thing that was going right for you?”

Your anger and frustration were boiling to the surface, this was not how you wanted things to go, “It was a risk I was willing to take,” you hissed, “You don’t know the type of man Rumlow can be Bucky -”

He scoffed cutting you off, “oh I don’t” he hummed, “I know exactly the man he is, yet you still chose him over me, you were hurting and yet you still chose him over me, over us,”

“I didn’t!” you yelled, “if you would just stop interrupting me,” you hissed, “Bucky that night when I said ‘I can’t keep doing this’ that was meant more for me than you, I couldn’t deal with the unhappiness Rumlow brought me when I would return home after being with you, I didn’t want to return to home that was so dark, so lonely, so loveless,” you paused your eyes watering, “I wanted to return to a home that was full of light, full of love, I wanted to return to a home that had you,”

Bucky lips are parting, his posture falling, “then why did you-”

“I needed to do things right Bucky, I didn’t want to have any sort of tie to Rumlow if I was going to chase my happiness with you, I wanted everything you had to offer, I wanted to be loved the way I deserved, I wanted you, but I needed to end things with Brock before I could chase after my own happiness.”

“So, did you?” his question hangs in the air because he doesn’t want to have any hope just yet, he can’t let himself fall again.

Your nodding through a teary half smile, “His lawyer spoke to mine this afternoon, and said they had been signed and sealed,”

He’s moving around to the front of the desk feet away from you, “y/n,” he murmurs shakily, “you better not be joking right now sweetheart, because I swear to-”

“I’m not,” you cut him off, “bucky it has been an unbearable month of not being in your arms, but I'm not going to waste one more second,”

Bucky’s chuckling low, his head shaking, “come here,” and you almost don’t catch his words if it hadn’t been for his arms opening up to you. You couldn’t close the distance between you fast enough as you crashed into his arms. Your arms were wrapped tightly around him, his embrace just as tight, as the tension in him melted away.

“I missed you so much,” he murmured into your hair, “there was so many days I wanted to give in and call, but I couldn’t find it in me,” He’s pulling away from you, his hands finding their way to your face, “why couldn’t you just tell me what you were doing y/n, why go through this alone,”

Your hands rest over his, “Because I knew what you would do if I told you, and this was something I needed to do for me,”

His eyes are staring deeply into yours, fingers running over your cheek, “did you mean what you said earlier?” and there's a hint of a teasing smile pulling at the corner of his mouth.

“I did,” you whisper.

His head is falling to yours, lips inches from your own, “say it again,” he grins.

“I love you,” you murmur closing the last bit of space left between your lips.

“So he never actually signed them till today,” Steve murmured more to himself than you, “I just wish you would have said something to Bucky earlier y/n, but I understand why you didn’t because if I were Bucky Rumlow wouldn’t have made it out of that office in one piece today,”

“I just hope Bucky can be as understanding as you are, I should have never kept any of this from him, but I was scared,”

Steve’s moving over to you then his hand coming to rest on your shoulder, “he loves you more than you know y/n, I promise you he’s going to understand,” he reassures.

A shaky sigh leaves your lips, “I hope your right Steve, I hope your right,”

Your setting the kitchen table when the front door is opening, Bucky walks through, door closing softly behind him as he makes his way over to you. He stops in the entrance of the kitchen, eyes on you, his hand stretches out towards you. You swallow the knot in your throat as you place the utensils down onto the table your feet carrying you to him.

His arms are around you in an instant, his lips pressed to your hair, “I understand why you couldn’t tell me, I just wish you would have doll, god to think he ever laid a hand on you I could have,”

Your moving your head away to look up at him, “and that’s why I couldn’t tell you, I felt weak Bucky, he took away my strength, he took everything from me, so when I finally made the decision to leave, I needed to do that for myself, you had already done so much for me, you had showed me love, love that I deserved, and I didn’t need Rumlow tainting that for me as well,”

His hands are coming to rest on your cheek, “I just wish I could have taken you away from all that pain and hurt sooner, someone like you should never know a pain like that,”

Your hands come up to rest on his chest, “and with you I never will,”

A loving smile stretches across his face, “I was going to wait off on doing this a little longer, but after the events of today, I don’t think there is a better time than now,” your head tilts in question.

His hands are sliding from your face, as he slips to the floor, a shaky hand comes up to your mouth as he pulls a black box from his slacks.

“Y/n I remember promising you that I would show you your worth, I remember telling you that you should be walked around the room like crown jewl, and I remember promising you that I would be me the one to do all this for you, well sweetheart I'm a man of my word, and I'm also a man that would love to spend the rest of my day showing you just that,” he pauses as he snaps the box open a beautiful diamond staring back at you, “will you marry me?”

A choked sob is falling from your lips, your head nodding furiously.

He’s standing then as he pulls the ring from its box, “it was my ma’s,” he whispers as he slides it onto your awaiting finger.

“Oh Bucky,” you murmur looking from the ring, then back to him, “I love you so much,” you’re laughing through your tears as you jump into his embrace your lips melting with his.

A year later

It’s in his embrace, and the eyes of your closest friends and family when he finally shows you off like a crowned jewel, the two of you swaying to your favorite song.

“you look absolutely breathtaking tonight Mrs. Barnes,” he murmurs into your ear.

You pull away to look at him, painted red lips pulled into a grin, “like a crowned jewel?” you questioned.

He’s grinning then too, “a crowned jewel finally getting what she deserves,” he murmured his lips pressing to yours lovingly.

#new beginning #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes x you #mobster!bucky x reader #mobster!bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fluff #protective!bucky #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #marvel fanfiction #marvel fanfic

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wen-kexing-apologist · 3 years

Text

Black is the Color of My True Love's Hair

Read here on AO3

Kaz:

There were many things Kaz loved about Ketterdam. He loved how the chaos of the city carried whispers, the way the Barrel opened itself up to those it trusted, loved how the markets were bathed in color when the tulips bloomed in Spring, and above all he loved the clocks, which rung music across the streets and kept his secrets safe within their chimes. Well, he usually loved the clocks. Right now, as he hurtled unceremoniously awake to their incessant tolls, he was concocting no less than seven schemes to destroy every last time piece in Ketterdam.

He sat up in bed, rubbing tight circles into the muscle of his bad leg, stretching the stiffness from his joints. He blinked the drowsiness from his eyes, glancing out the window to where the first rays of daybreak were just beginning to brighten the sky. He rolled out of bed, sleepy and slow, and limped over to his wash basin. He splashed water on his face and ran wet fingers through his hair, his footsteps fell heavy on his hardwood floors and he groaned in pain with every motion. The pain was always bad in the mornings, when the lack of movement made his muscles sore, when his knee didn’t want to bend.

“Tell me, Dirtyhands,” a voice muttered, and Kaz spun around in surprise. The anxious beating of his heart accelerated at the sight of Inej, eyes closed, blanket on her shoulders, and her face resting on his desk, her hair loose, wild, and draped across her arms. “How did you ever complete heists before I came along, with a walk as loud as yours?”

It shouldn’t have surprised him to find her here, the foggy edges of his memory recalled they’d been together yesterday, working until the early hours of the morning. Inej had fallen asleep first, and Kaz, not having the strength to move her, had continued his work until the dreams had taken him.

“Perhaps your ears deceive you, Wraith,” Kaz smirked, pulling off his nightshirt, wiping himself down. “I’m quiet as a mouse,”

“Big mouse,” Inej retorted, the blanket slipping to the floor as she sat up and stretched. She tugged off her vest, and began unbuttoning her shirt, Kaz watched her every move from the mirror, trying to steady his pulse as she drew closer to him. She met his gaze, a rueful look in her eye, a challenge and an invitation. He walked away before she could come to stand by his side, he wasn’t sure he would be able to control himself, he wasn’t sure he could survive his need to touch her if she had drawn too near. But that didn’t mean he was out of the game.

He could feel her eyes upon his back as he made his way to his closet, pulled out a fresh pair of clothes, and stripped himself down completely. Inej’s breath hitched behind him and he bit back a grin. It was terrifying and exhilarating to expose himself like this. But he was competitive and he wasn’t going to let Inej run circles around his temptations. He got dressed, moving deliberately, taking his time. He left his gloves off. He was smug when he turned back around, waiting to claim his victory. But it was quickly replaced by desire, warm and unexpected and delightful, at the sight of her, hair slick and dripping water in graceful lines down her back. She was running a brush through it, working out the knots and tangles, a thin strip of leather pressed between her teeth.

She was breathtaking. Kaz had marveled once, not too long ago at how, after everything Inej had suffered, she could still consider herself lucky. But seeing her like this, with the sunrise painting gold across her skin, with a calm that curved her shoulders, he was beginning to understand what luck could feel like. She buttoned up her shirt, then her vest, and picked her knives up from the desk. She brought each knife up to her lips, whispering a prayer before she tucked them back into their sheaths.

He loved the easy silence that settled in between them. Kaz spent so much of his day plotting, scheming, thinking, that he savored every second of silence he could find. Inej carried silence on her like a charm. Kaz was enamored, enraptured by her, he was studying her every move. When she had secured her last blade, she returned to the mirror, and began to braid her hair.

“Wait,” Kaz blurted, before he was even sure what he was going to say. “Would you teach me?”

Inej, already halfway done, stopped, and looked at him with nothing but confusion in her eyes “What?”

Regret and embarrassment turned his cheeks warm and red “If I told you I was deliriously exhausted, would you forget about that lapse in self control, and allow me to maintain my reputation as a widely feared and extremely powerful Barrel boss?”

Inej cocked her head to the side, batting her eyelashes at him, a giant, teasing smile spreading across her face. She came in close, putting mere inches between them, and Kaz wanted nothing more than to pull her to him, to feel her hand against his chest, to grasp her elbow and wipe that smug look on her face off with a kiss. “And give up the opportunity to blackmail the bastard of the Barrel?”

“Inej,” he pleaded. Inej had gotten him to beg , Saints, she was good.

“Why?” Her question was sincere and curious. Why do you want to braid my hair?

“I- I don’t know,” it broke something in Kaz to admit it, to admit he wanted something with no strings attached. “To see if I can? Because your hair seems so important to you and I-” I want you to know how important you are to me.

Inej’s eyes pierced through to his very soul, the flash of a smile flitting across her face. Kaz would have done anything for a smile like that. “Okay,” she said “This will be easier if you sit,” she nodded her head in the direction of his mattress. “You take the bed, I’ll take the floor,” Kaz obliged, ignoring the pain that radiated up his leg. Inej pulled her knees up close to her chest, her back straight as an arrow. After a minute she turned to look at him, apprehension furrowing her brow, “You have to actually pick my hair up before we can start, you know?”

“Right,” Kaz agreed, and sucked in a breath when she returned her gaze to the window, trying to prepare himself for the onslaught of crashing waves and rotting flesh. But as Kaz dipped his fingers into the ink that was Inej’s hair, the waters never rose, Jordie’s face did not appear behind his eyes. He let out a single, almost hopeful chuckle, when he realized he was fine. There was nothing in the feeling of her hair in his hands to remind him of the harbor. Jordie’s hair had not been as dark as hers, had not been as long; Inej’s hair was sleek and soft and cared for, it felt foreign and familiar against his skin. It was a comfort, it was a starting point, it was an illusion shattered by the realization that Inej had gone completely still under his grasp.

“Are you still with me, Wraith?” Kaz asked the air, pretending to be casual, heart pounding in excitement and concern.

“Yes,” it was a whisper as soft as a ghost. Inej’s arms were wrapped around her torso, her fingers resting gently across the hilts of her favorite knives.

Kaz dropped his hand and took a step back, his fingers twitched, wanting more. But he would not submit Inej to torture. “You sound like you are vanishing. I don’t...I don’t want to be the reason why you disappear,”

“You’re not the only one who has armor on,” Inej said simply. “Now, split my hair into three even sections.”

Kaz tried to steady his hand when he reached out again, why was he so nervous? He brushed his fingers through her hair, wondering if the first time had been a fluke, fearing he would be plunged into the harbor. But the waters never came, Kaz could not contain his smile. He separated out her hair, and thought of all the times he had seen her twist her plait together. Feeling confident in it, he tried to start the braid, but he wasn’t sure what he was doing, and she was sitting too far away. He knew it was for him, to make sure they didn’t touch, but it meant he had to lean awkwardly to reach the base of her neck. He lost his balance and accidentally pulled hard on Inej’s hair, still wrapped up in his hands, as he lurched backwards to steady himself. Kaz’s heart punctured beneath the sharp intake of Inej’s breath, and bled out against her knuckles, which had turned white, clutched tightly around her Saints.

“Sorry,” it was perhaps the second time in his life that Kaz had ever apologized, and the ease at which it passed his lips terrified and excited him.

Slowly, carefully, Inej moved closer, leaning back against his shins. Pain shot through his bad leg in a familiar arc, and he bit his lip and closed his eyes to prevent himself from grunting. The pain made him think of violence, of fighting, the only way he was usually able to handle any form of physical contact. The aching in his leg diluted the euphoria he felt knowing he could touch Inej, her hair at least, without bringing Jordie back to life, but it also saved him from drowning now, with her back pressed up against him. He knew what she was doing, he didn’t blame her for it.

Inej:

Tante Helene had been obsessed with Inej’s hair, the first day they met she had practically drooled over it, with thoughts of how much money such luscious locks would make her. She had been right. There was not a night that went by in that horrible place where someone else’s greasy fingers hadn’t felt it, tangled it...pulled it. Inej’s hair wasn’t just important to her, it was sacred. To have it handled so, it made her feel disgraceful, made her feel abandoned, cursed. When Kaz had shown up, before sense could catch up to her, she had thought it was a rescue, that she would never have to worry about such heinous acts again.

Kaz had warned her when they made their way out of The Menagerie that he was not taking her to safety. The Barrel was a wicked place, a hungry place, it took its pound of flesh from everyone. But, a small, naive part of her hadn’t wanted to believe him. It had only taken a few hours for Kaz to be proven right. It happened just as Inej had begun to feel comfortable, had begun to settle into the cacophony and the chaos of the Dregs. A newer member, Hendrik, someone with too little skill and too much to prove, had grabbed her by the hair and flung her to a darkened corner of the bar. She had imagined all the ways she could destroy him, clawing out his eyes, poisoning his drink, beating him bloody. She had wanted desperately to fight back, but instead her body did what it always had, what she had trained it to do, and she had disappeared. She had hated herself for it, hated that she had shown her weakness from the very first day.

But she hated herself more for having been so stupid as to believe that things would be different with Dirtyhands; that she could become more than just a toy to be passed around. As the last shreds of hope for a different life were suffocated by the hands upon her, a crow-headed cane connected with Hendrik’s skull. The corners of her coat turned red as his blood spread across the floor, she reveled in the sight of it and felt ashamed to have loved such violence. Kaz had been the one to save her that night, because of course he had. She hated the way Hendrik made her feel, like she was just skin, supple and pliable and at the mercy of another’s whims. Kaz had turned her to metal, turned her knuckles into brass, had sharpened her edges and given her claws.

Inej cut off her hair with the first knife Kaz gave her, it had broken her to do so and freed her all the same. She had regretted it, it felt like a betrayal to her former self, to her parents, to her Saints; but it was the one thing in her life she could control. Since then, her hair had grown with her, had grown to something no one else had ever touched. No one, now, except for Kaz.

When he’d asked her to teach him, when he’d said he wanted to learn, she had lost the rest of his request to the sound of her heart, beating in her ear. In all the years she’d been in Ketterdam, no one else had ever cared enough to ask her. When he’d first wrapped his fingers through her hair, years of memories came rushing back, she’d almost collapsed against their weight...and then he’d laughed, a small delighted thing.

Kaz was doing what she’d asked of him, he was trying to get better, and though Inej had spent most of her time in the Dregs working on her own weaknesses, she had yet to conquer this one. It wasn’t fair, she knew, to ask him to do something she wouldn’t do herself. She gripped her knives, because they kept her grounded, they kept her here, safe in the Slat, safe with Kaz. Inej realized, with tentative glee, that she liked this feeling, Kaz’s fingers running through her hair, cautious and gentle.

And then he’d lost his balance.

A fear she’d long forgotten crashed into her body, knocked the air from her lungs. Wrapped itself around her throat and floated upward, forcing her out, making her disappear. There were hands on her, in her hair, pressing down on her chest, holding her arms so they would not fight, or scratch, or claw. Her consciousness clung to the ceiling, her strength jumped out the window.

“Where’s your hairbrush?” his question severed the line, slamming Inej back into her body. Uh oh .

“What happened?” Inej asked, not sure if she actually wanted an answer to that question.

“I...got overconfident,” She wasn’t looking at him, but his words sounded almost sheepish. A different type of panic raced through her.

“I’m not cutting it again,” She turned to meet his eye, when had she leaned against his legs? “so if you mess my hair up, Kaz, we’re having words,”

“If I mess you hair up, Inej,” Kaz replied, his face firm, but eyes shining, “you can take your revenge, I won’t even put up a fight,”

“Well, that’s no fun,” she muttered, bounding over to the desk, grabbing her hairbrush, and handing it to Kaz. Kaz let his fingers slide over her knuckles, she could see the shiver that travelled down his spine, this was an apology.

“Then you can torture me in the meantime,” he whispered. Kaz stretched out his bad leg, keeping his other one bent. He gave a curt nod and a tight smile, and when she returned to her spot on the floor, she pressed her back against him and draped one arm lightly over his shin. With surety, Kaz began to brush her hair. It bit into her scalp at first, but he loosened his grip, and the teeth of the brush began to tickle, to soothe, the repetitive nature of the action brought her comfort. She hummed happily.

“What song does the Wraith sing for me today?”

“One from home,” she sighed, blissful and content and fully in her own mind. “This reminds me of my mother,”

Kaz cleared his throat “I don’t know that I want to do anything that reminds you of your mother,” Inej thought of him, naked before her no less than fifteen minutes earlier, and laughed.

“She used to brush my hair when I was young. She’d press kisses to my temple, twist my hair through her fingers. She taught me how to braid it, how to care for it. She’s the only other person who’s brushed my hair,” her head rested fully in his lap now, and when she looked at him, she felt something in him twitch. His forehead was sweaty, this was challenging for him, she figured she had let him suffer enough for his mistake and so she sat back up and put a little space between them. “Don’t get cocky this time, Kaz. Three even strands,”

“What next?”

“Grab the middle strand with one finger, and cross it over to the right. The strand that was on the right should now be in the middle. Do the same thing on the left side, middle to the left.” Kaz made a sound of acknowledgement, and started the braid. Inej was used to seeing him work, picking pockets and picking locks with confidence. His fingers did not seem so sure of themselves today, fumbling clumsily as he struggled to keep the strips of her hair separated. “And then just do it again, middle to the right, middle to the left, over and over until you get to the bottom,”

Kaz worked as methodically as ever, and Inej had to fight the urge to find a reflection of herself in the window, to check in on his progress. She trusted Kaz would do the best job he could. “And then?”

“Here,” she handed him the thin strip of leather. “Tie off the end, you can just wrap it around and knot it,”

“Alright,” Kaz said, and his bed creaked as he leaned back. But he didn’t drop her hair like she expected. Instead he ran a thumb across the plait he had just made. She thanked the Saints for the joy it made her feel, knowing that Kaz Brekker didn’t want to let her go. “I think I’m done,”

Inej stood up, flitting over to examine his handiwork. It was done with a quality she had anticipated, nowhere near perfect, but it would do for the day. It was a little too loose, and there were pieces of her hair that feathered out around the edges. Pieces Kaz had either neglected or that had already slipped from the braid. She caught the frenetic motion of Kaz’s hands, twisting a coin between his knuckles, and knew that he was worried, waiting for a judgement.

“A valiant first attempt,” Inej decreed, joining Kaz on the bed.

“Now, that’s a kind lie if I ever heard one,” Kaz’s eyes traced over the curves of her body.

“It’s not a lie,” Inej said, and leaned forward, “But, if you’re dissatisfied with the result, you are welcome to try again tomorrow,”

“I might have to take you up on that offer,” His eyes were glued to her lips, Inej could hear the way his breath quickened. And just as he started to close the distance between them, his sheets balled up in his fists, the clocks began to chime.

“I should be going,” Inej whispered, though she could not make out the words beneath the sound of her own yearning.

“Just one more second,” Kaz requested, sweating and shaking, he pressed a kiss to her temple, gentle as a ghost. He moved away instantly, swallowing hard, tucking his hands beneath his arms. He hadn’t been ready for that . The spot where he had kissed her felt electric, felt hopeful, felt empty, she wanted more, but Kaz did not, Kaz could not. His eyes were glazing over, he was about to be lost to the waters again.

She hopped off the bed to give him space, unlocked the latch on his window, and opened it to bring the air in. “Thanks, Mom,” she said with all the seriousness that she could muster.

Inej wanted a portrait of the look on Kaz’s face to hang above her mantle “Fuck you, Inej,”

“I don’t think you’re ready for that,” she said with a smirk, Jesper and Nina had definitely rubbed off on her, and she left him there, cheeks red, mouth agape, her braid swinging behind her, as if waving Kaz goodbye.

#*cries in kanej*#kanej my beloved #kanej fanfic #kanej #kaz x inej #inej x kaz #the crows #six of crows #soc #crooked kingdom #kaz brekker #inej ghafa #crooked kingdom fanfic #shadow and bone #shadow and bone fanfic #dirtyhands #ketterdam #the bastard of the barrel #the wraith

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odelschwanky · 4 years

Text

Don’t Leave (Coyote Starrk x Female Reader)

Word Count: 4055

**SMUT**

You sat there looking out at the desolate black of Hueco Mundo. The sand was so pretty, how it danced like gray glitter on the whispering wind. The sky was deep, the clouds moved ever so slowly, and the horizon was just a thin line that you couldn't even decipher. Your hair stirred in the wind, only slightly, as you sulked and stared out at the only place you've ever known.

"Why are you out?"

You turned slowly to see him, and your heart jumped. You smiled softly as you admired the way his chestnut tinted hair swayed, grazing his shoulders. His silver eyes narrowed at you, and he appeared slightly concerned. It wasn't like him to show much emotion. You could see the slight furrow in his brow and the softening of his frown. He was worried about you, even though he wouldn't admit it. You could just tell.

"I wanted to look," you say quietly, turning back to the empty world that matched your heart. You didn't get to see the outside very often, for you were always deep inside the fortress of Las Noches. You were always inside that room. How were you an Espada, one of the most powerful beings in Hueco Mundo, yet so tamed and broken? You never understood it, but that's all you ever knew.

"It never changes, (y/n)."

He comes to your side, not quite standing shoulder to shoulder. You could still feel his pressure next to you. It was... overwhelming. He was always so intense. That intensity made you feel safe.

"I know," you reply because there wasn't any purpose in arguing. It did change. The wind was blowing Northeast today. Well, this time. You couldn't keep track of the days here. All you ever saw was the perpetual night. The only indication to the time was the slow and lonely cycle through full and empty that the moon traversed between. This time it was almost full.

He waited outside with you generously, allowing you to drink in the gloom for a while longer. You grabbed his hand when you were finished, and he took it firmly in his. He was wearing gloves, like usual. You liked the way the leather purchased in your hand, but you liked the way his skin felt much better. You haven't touched his hand in a long while. You thought about the last time, months ago perhaps. You sighed with the longing for it as he walked you back inside.

Your footsteps brilliantly resonated throughout the long empty halls of marble, almost as loud as the silence. You decided to ask him since you didn't ask for permission today. He never liked it when you disobeyed him, but he never seemed to punish you for it.

"Can I look outside again tomorrow?" You turn to glance at him. You didn't know what he would say. You hoped he would let you.

He grunted, running his hand over his neck. You were approaching the room. You didn't want to go back in there. You desperately wanted to stay, at least in the hallway, holding his gloved hand.

"Aizen won't like that," he sighed lazily.

Aizen never liked anything you did or didn't do. Anything that had anything to do with you, Aizen was already disapproving. You didn't understand why he hated you so.

"Then again, he never likes anything." He seemed to say exactly what you were thinking. Starrk looked at the ground and takes a deep breath again. He seemed to be trying to find either an excuse to keep you in or an excuse to let you out. You couldn't tell which. You patiently looked at him in eager anticipation. You loved the passive pout he always wore on his face.

"Maybe. Be good and I'll decide later."

"Okay," you say without protest.

You arrived at the place where you've spent years, maybe more, (you didn't know). You couldn't keep track of time because your monotonous life only had a few irregularities.

He pushed open the stone door you left unbarred when you escaped. Starrk looked at you with a mixture of annoyance and reprimand. You know better than to leave, he seemed to say with his gaze. And you didn't even try to be subtle about it either.

You both enter the dark, cold room. Starrk glances at the back wall with his eyes opened only a little larger than the restricted expression he kept them in. You hoped this meant he was pleased.

"What's this?"

You had done some painting while he was away. You hadn't seen him for a few days maybe. The black ink was now dry on the canvas you had propped up. The work was taller than both of you put together and wider than that. You had finished it before you had gone outside.

"It's something I did while you were gone," you tell him. He hadn't let go of your hand yet. You didn't want him to let it go. You wish he wouldn't leave so much.

"It's a beautiful painting." He said, assessing it. He seemed unimpressed. You sank, despite his compliment.

"Do you mean that?" You inquired this, not taking your eyes off of him.

He nods.

"I painted it for you." You squeeze his hand.

Starrk smiles for the first time in a long while. Seeing it made you happy.

It was strange, what you felt for him. He kept you locked up in a prison, not allowed to see or be seen by others, but you didn't hold any contempt for him. He likened you to some kind of pet, keeping you in a kennel all day, but you knew that he was keeping you safe. He was the only person you were allowed to see. When you think of human interaction, you think of him. All of your memories are made with him. Your life revolves around him. You were okay with that.

"Why?"

You look at him, confused. "What, you don't like it?

"It's not that. I'm grateful." He turned to you, face stone, void of emotion. "Why do you do these things for me?"

It wasn't the first time you had done a generous act for him. Many times you've made art for him. You've brought him things you find in the sand of Hueco Mundo, little trinkets you'd like him to have. You've made food for him on many occasions. You gave him gifts.

"I know you have the capacity to think. Why don't you want more for yourself?"

You did want more. You wanted freedom, autonomy, liberation from this place. You wanted to see a more beautiful world, like the one Starrk told you about when he went away to fight the Soul Reapers. You wanted to be free of this horrid, horrid place but the desire was never enough to light a fire under you and cause you to pursue it. The desire to be at Starrk's side was stronger.

"I... do." You say quietly. You wanted to be more. To him.

He pinched the bridge of his nose. Did he feel guilty? Sad? Confused? Angry? You didn't want him to feel like this.

"You never wonder why, or who caused you to be this way? Or are you content with living like this?" He walked away from you, pacing about the room slowly, and deliberately.

You did wonder. You wondered about it all the time. Why you kept like bird when you had the tattoo on your front saying you were an Espada? Why didn't you have any knowledge of what you used to be? You didn't know anything except for him.

"Of course I wonder," you reply. You never raised your voice. You didn't have it in you to do it. You were making him upset, but he was breaking your heart.

"Then why don't you ever ask me what happened? Doesn't that matter to you?"

"I would like it to matter... but it doesn't," you say.

It didn't.

Whether you knew about your past or not, nothing was going to change, was it? That's the only thing that you had faith in, was that things would be the same. "You know that, Starrk."

Starrk sighed again, shaking his head. He looked at you tentatively. He wanted to say something, but he decided against it. You could see it on his face. The single stream of light from the tall window high in the room crossed his face with an intense white glint. You could see every strand of hair glimmer, every strand of his stubbled goatee and thick brows.

"You make everything so hard."

"St- Starrk?" The tears pricked and began rolling down your face in one swift motion. He looked displeased with you. What did you do wrong?

The fury in his face wavered for only a moment when he saw you start to cry. As quickly as he faltered, he bulwarked his expression with deep-set brows, forming in a tight disapproving line.

"Don't leave again." He commanded.

Your stomach dropped as he turned to go. You reached out your hand to grab him, but you barely missed him. "What're you talking about?" You called, a lump in your throat.

"You're content with living like a helot. I can't accept that."

This comment shattered you like glass. His tone was full of disdain. He sounded like he hated you. His voice hurt you more than his words. You'd never heard him sound so angry before. Hopelessness filled you like a bubbling pit of tar, causing you to choke up on the hot, black tears.

How dare he be mad at you for that? He was the one keeping you hostage. He locked you away and treated you like a prisoner. How could he be mad at you for not doing anything about it when this was all you knew?

He walked so swiftly away from you, you couldn't bear to see him go. Who knew when he'd be back? He barred the door and was gone. "Don't leave again," you wanted to say to him. Why did he leave you? You were bound to this room with nothing in it, but you were also bound to him. Why didn't he know that?

Defeated, you drug the painting to the corner of the large, empty marble room. You wanted to burn it, but you didn't. It was for him. You still wanted him to have it.

Your bed, a heap of pillows and blankets tucked neatly between two pillars in the center of the floor, looked so inviting. You were destroyed. You just wanted to sob until he came back.

Time passed so slowly. Still, the days had passed. Over and over, the moon fell out of the line of the window, and you were left in total darkness, only for it to come back again. When the moon passed out of view for the tenth or eleventh time, you lit a few candles and placed them near your bed. You lie there, carved out and left empty. You wished another Espada would come to find you, and kill you. That would be the nicest thing they could do. You would ever be so lucky.

The door locked from the inside. You could leave. You could go look outside. You didn't. No desire came to you to disobey him. You couldn't stand yourself. Why don't you care? Why don't you have this desperate need to know your past? Why couldn't you act how he wanted you to? Independent, free-thinking, with a mind of your own.

You didn't know the answer.

You got up and went to the corner of the room, where the silent wall of water for your bathing was. It dripped down into a pool, big enough for you lie down three times over. You shed your clothes and stared at yourself in the solid, unwavering reflection. The number was branded across your chest, down your stomach extending to your hips. What did had it meant before? Why didn't you care? You didn't want to live like this anymore.

Crawling into the water, you lie down in it. Underneath the water, there was more sound than above. You could hear the blood rushing in your ears. You could hear your heartbeat. That was the only way you could even tell you were alive.

You were tempted to breathe in the water. Just to see what would happen.

Could you even drown?

It's been an unbearable time since you'd last seen Starrk. All those horrible things he said to you kept replaying in your mind. He was the only thing you had, the only one you loved. Could you even call it love?

How could you love a man who kept you in a cage?

You opened your mouth and let the water rush in. Your deep breath was a terrible one. Instant regret-filled your lungs, making them burn. Still you took another... but it was too much. Natural instict kicked in and you shot upright through the surface, coughing and sputtering. You threw up the water back in the pool. The retching combined with nausea building up in your gut was too much to take and you began to cry. The silence was broken with your childish bawling. You just wanted something, someone to stop your pain and loneliness.

You wanted Starrk to come back.

After you washed, you fumbled around in the trunk full of the clothes you owned. Most of them were elaborate, white robes with black trim that looked a little like Starrk's. You wore these as an Espada no doubt, but now you just wear them because it's all you have. You managed to find one of the less flashy items, a white shift gown made of satin. You liked to wear it when you slept.

With tears still in your eyes, you crawled into bed and let the feelings of worthlessness, hopelessness, and dread consume you. Within a few hours, you had finally wept yourself to sleep.

***

"Open the door."

You heard a firm order come from he another side. Groggily, you rubbed your eyes and sat up in a hurry. The blankets you buried yourself under had been strewn and draped all over your body. You heard the pounding again, more clearly now that you were awake.

"(y/n), open this damn door."

You throw off your cover and walk to the door, trying to wake up. Your bare feet pattering on the floor was the only noise that echoed in your hollow room.

"Did you hear me?" Starrk sounded urgent. You obeyed. It took all your strength to lift the bar on the door. You were weak, tired, sad. But you obeyed.

"(Y/n)!"

"I'm here."

The heavy stone door inched open and there you stood. Your long hair was still wet, your eyes were sunken and dark circles plagued them. You didn't look well at all. Your grief had gotten the best of you. You missed him. You didn't smile when you saw him though. You couldn't smile. He had made you think about all of the things you hated about your life and made you realize how miserable you were. You were hurting. The look on his face let you know he could see that.

"What is it?" You ask slowly. You wanted to leap into his arms and tell him how you felt about him. You were so happy to see him, but you were so angry with yourself for feeling that way.

"Why don't you hate me?"

There was no feeling in his face. His indifferent eyes bore into you and it intimidated you. Your tears showed themselves to him and your lips parted to speak. You wanted to explain yourself but there were no words to explain how you felt.

"Because I can't."

Starrk's lips were on your in a second, and he had gathered you up in his arms. A sniffle escaped from you as you let him have your body. Starrk strode in, flawlessly multitasking between holding you in one arm and closing the door with the other, shoving the bar down with no effort at all, locking the both of you in your private world.

The only assertion you showed was the way you shoved off his clothes. Off came his jacket, then his shirt. They fell to the floor in a trail as he marched you to your bed. He laid you down, cupping your neck gently, but kissing you forcefully. The motivation in his motions was ravenous, as he tore your lips apart with his own. You had trouble keeping up. You tried to get some purchase on his back, but you couldn't find the strength to dig your nails in. Instead, you rubbed sensually on his bare skin. His bare skin...

He worked your gown off in no time at all. You couldn't feel the warmth of his touch. All you felt was leather. You seized his hands firmly and aggressively tugged both of the gloves off and forced his hands to your chest for him to grab. He eagerly obliged with a deep grunt and groped your body all over. Your heat was rising, ascending to something otherworldly. You needed him, whether you wanted to admit it or not.

He ground against your hips and you could feel him, gasping through the endless, messy kiss. His pants were hard to move, so you fumbled with them until he barked at you, removing them himself.

You said his name, softly yet desperately as he tried to enter you. It hurt, and you only clutched him tighter.

"Does it hurt?" He asked.

He parted from your lips to ask this important question. You couldn't see his face much in the utter darkness of the room, but you could see his pale blue eyes. The met yours with sincerity and intensity. You nod.

"I'm not going to hurt you," Starrk reassures you. He sounded soothing, exact, intentional. He wanted you to know it was okay. You felt like it was. You weren't worried.

You heard a slight slurp as Starrk licked his finger. It slid down your front, tracing the line of your tattoo and arrived at your sex, which wasn't quite as wet as it needed to be. He gently worked its way in, moving in gentle, circular movements that caused your core to tighten. "Talk to me," he commanded. "How does it feel?"

You nodded slowly and murmured your response. "It.. feels. good," you finished with a moan as he slowly, calmly entered another finger. You reached down to feel him. The length and girth of him was much more than his fingers could imitate. You rubbed your thumb across his opening, causing him to curse. Your thumb became a little slick. You continued to handle him, feeling him twitch in your grasp. He bucked into your hand, letting you know he liked it.

"Starrk..." you began. You wanted to tell him you loved him. It wasn't the right time, but you wanted to tell him anyway.

"Yes?"

Your the rustling of the blankets was all that you could hear beyond your voices. He positioned himself at your opening again, not giving your body any time to readjust back to the tightness it was before. He replaced his fingers with himself smoothly, it was like magic. It was easier this time when he pushed his way inside you. You moaned softly as your body gave way. You couldn't formulate the words.

"That's beautiful," he said, pinching your face in his hand. "You sound... Beautiful."

The way he rocked into your body sent chills through you. He filled you up with every stroke and you tightened around him every time. He went deeper and deeper into you until you could feel his hips press into yours. You were stuffed with him, and you didn't know how much more you could take.

He knelt now, back straight up and grabbed your hips. The inside of your thighs gave in to the pressure from his thumbs and you could feel the bruises already starting to form. In and out he went, growing faster and faster. His strokes were still light, like gentle swift kisses that barely swept the surface of the skin. By now you were a mess of whines and cries, but these were not of pain. You wanted so desperately to climax. The building pressure was aching inside you and all you wanted was release. You grabbed his wrists and squeezed them, saying his name over ad over.

"Starrk...please." You begged him.

"Not yet," he huffs.

He turned you over on to your stomach, and your breath caught. A firm hand came down on your shoulder blade, pressing you down into the cushions. You grabbed onto a blanket for some kind of outlet. Your hands clutched and Starrk lay down on top of you, his heavy weight feeling like a mass of stone. His face came close to your ear, and he spoke to you quietly, deeply, as he continued to drive you.

"Just relax," he groaned, making you feel all of him. His front was hot against your back and your sweat had started to mingle, making all his movements slick. You did as you were told, not knowing how much tension you'd been putting onto yourself. You were tightened on your own volition, and when you relaxed slowly, the sex felt better than you could've imagined.

He turned your head to kiss you, deeply, passionately. It was as if your tongues knew each other already, how familiarly they intertwined. It got messy, and soon his spit was dripping down your chin and your hair stuck to your sweaty cheeks and forehead. Your voice was fading with the strain. He had you in a hold and the only way out was to come.

You finished violently, tensing and clenching and crying loudly. Starrk gritted his teeth, the way you felt was too much for him. He came inside you while the two of you kissed, and he rolled over on his side with you still in his arms. He encased you in his grip, refusing to stop kissing you.

"I... don't want you to hurt anymore."

He said this between kisses, and you could feel the genuineness of the statement. It warmed your heart. All you wanted was him. Now that you had him... you were spent.

You fell asleep kissing him. There wasn't much energy left inside you. You had been hurt and healed by the same person. It exhausted you to the point of fainting and soon you were in a dreamless sleep.

***

The guise of the morning came by soft grey light, leaking in through the single window. You blinked open your eyes to see and feel Starrk still around you. His fingers lazily played in your hair and his legs draped over you, keeping you sheltered and safe. You looked up at him, the exhaustion hitting you.

"You're still here?" You sleepily mumble in surprise.

He plants a kiss on your lips and stirs, letting out a raspy groan.

"You're a wreck when I'm not around."

As much as you didn't want to admit it, he was right.

"Thank you for noticing," you pout, closing your eyes again.

"I didn't know it, but I need you too, (y/n)."

You felt around for his hand, which you found encircling your neck. You wriggled your fingers inside his hold and grasped it softly. "You... need me?"

You were dumbfounded. Starrk wasn't the type to need anyone. He was a lone wolf that didn't talk much to anyone, an apathetic, heartless man. The way he left and went days without coming to see you told you everything you needed to know about that. He couldn't be telling the truth.

"I'm telling the truth. When we're apart, something isn't quite right. I feel... incomplete. I don't like feeling like that."

So he only needed you to clear his conscience?

"But. That hurt on your face, when I came to you last night..." He squeezed your hand. "It looked like you were dying."

You were. You were dying without him. Now that he was here though, you felt better than you ever remember feeling.

"I'm not leaving you anymore."

#coyote starrk #coyote starrk x reader #bleach anime #bleach x reader #bleach one shots

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spaceskam · 3 years

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rest in my arms, sleep in my bed

Summary: Jiang Cheng goes to Qinghe before a snow storm.

Tags: post-canon, fluff, implied sexual content, morning after

ao3

Nie Huaisang was a selfish man and he was willing to admit it.

Many things he’d done in his life were born of selfish desires and he was happiest at his most selfish. His disciples seemed to understand that and seemed to be content with it, though a part of that selfishness was making sure they were good, taken care of disciples and therefore it worked in their benefit. He couldn’t risk having shitty people that he was required to trust and rely on‒that would not be happening again.

Still, that selfishness had also led to him doing exhiliratingly dumb things like dragging Sandu Shengshou into his bed. It was absolutely a dangerous prospect and could’ve very easily gotten him killed or at least a few broken bones, but Nie Huaisang apparently had caught him at a good‒or bad, depending on how you looked at it‒time and he needed someone to go a little wild on who would also pet his head and call him embarrassing pet names just to see how red he could get.

That was a while ago now, though, and they’d fallen into a nice pattern of not seeing each other for months on end and then showing up when they needed a day of pretending they weren’t sect leaders with someone who was just as fucked up and unqualified as they were. It was pretty effective and gave Nie Huaisang a large amount of time and space to wallow in self-loathing. Granted, he was pretty sure Jiang Cheng did something like that too, so they were basically fated at this point.

Last night, however, the idiot himself had flown to Qinghe and stupidly misunderstood how weather worked. Nie Huaisang’s functioning theory was that he was so angry that he didn’t feel the cold because as soon as they banged it out and he got some fucking rest for what was probably the first time in a week, he was freezing. Nie Huaisang had wrapped him up in the thickest blankets he could find and cooed at the way he burrowed into them like an adorably angry baby.

Sometime during the night it only escalated and snowed so hard Nie Huaisang was beginning to think they might have to send a quick letter to Lotus Pier to let them know their fearless and highly feared sect leader was incapacitated by way of being scared of the weather.

“Fuck this fucking white shit,” Jiang Cheng grumbled in his heap of blankets on Nie Huaisang’s bed. It was usually made by now so it was slightly annoying that it wasn’t, but he could excuse it. For today, at least. Extenuating circumstances.

“Does it not snow in Lotus Pier?” Nie Huaisang mused from where he sat cross-legged on the other side of the bed. He had ink grinded and was working his way through a painting, one of a pretty tree in the snow. Part of him wanted to paint in Jiang Cheng pouting under said tree, but he assumed that would go as well as that time he painted Da-ge smiling with a flower. “Does it not get cold?”

“It does,” Jiang Cheng said, sounding like an absolute child from inside his pile, “But not like this! This is torture. Inhumane. Wrong. Lotus Pier gets, like, windy. A bit snowy, sometimes, yes, but fuck all of this shit.”

“You’re such a baby.”

“You are not allowed to talk to me like that!” Jiang Cheng snapped, but he didn’t move from his blankets and therefore it meant nothing. Truthfully, even if he had, it wouldn’t have meant anything. Jiang Cheng was just like that. It was part of why Nie Huaisang liked him so much.

“Seriously, this is nothing. You should come when it gets too cold to snow.”

“ Too cold to snow?” Jiang Cheng repeated, absolute disbelief and horror in his voice. Nie Huaisang found himself smiling.

“Darling, you’re adorable when you don’t know things.”

“Says the Headshaker,” he grumbled.

Nie Huaisang huffed a laugh and carefully put his ink and painting on his bedside table that existed solely for a place to put nightly paintings and ink. Once it was settled, he crawled back over to the lump of blankets and draped himself over it.

“If you’re truly that cold, I can think of a few ways to warm you up,” he said. Jiang Cheng grunted in disdain because he thought he needed to be manly and Nie Huaisang rolled his eyes.

“No offense, but I’m too cold for that. I’m pretty sure my dick has climbed into my body,” he said. Nie Huaisang rolled onto the other side of the mass of blankets, sliding his hand beneath them. “If your hand is cold, I’m going to fucking‒ Fuck! Why do you feel like ice?! What is wrong with you?! Are you even human?!”

Nie Huaisang laughed and dug under the blankets more to press his cold fingers into his skin. That was another reason that he liked Jiang Cheng so much. He made him laugh. That was something he hadn’t done earnestly in well over a decade.

“ Stop, ” Jiang Cheng whined, finally letting his stupid facade drop. Nie Huaisang felt motivated by it and started to make his way into Jiang Cheng’s blanket heap. “You’re so cold, what the fuck, you’re letting the cold air in!”

“You’re a cultivator, aren’t you warm naturally? Your core is so strong, can't you just get over it?” Nie Huaisang asked, easily slipping his foot to press against the back of Jiang Cheng’s thighs. He jumped and half-assed swatting at his leg. Nie Huaisang hooked his leg around him and pulled himself in. “Here, you big baby, I’ll tuck you in.”

He took a second to seal off any passageways into the blanket heap, closing them in together. Once he settled, he got a good look at Jiang Cheng’s pouty little face in the darkness of the blankets. Somehow, he still seemed to be glowing. As much as Nie Huaisang never cared to grow his own core, he couldn’t deny that it helped create some breathtaking men. That in itself was a gift.

“Do I need to get one of my disciples to take you back to Lotus Pier?” he asked. Jiang Cheng’s eyes slowly slipped across his face and then down between them where they were pressed together, more or less. Nie Huaisang raised an eyebrow and waited for him to meet his eyes again. “Well? Do I?”

“I don’t need help. ”

“Yes, but it isn’t safe to fly on your sword in this,” he pointed out, “And it definitely isn’t safe to travel on foot alone. I don’t care how known and powerful you are.”

“What,” Jiang Cheng said, voice a bit quiet, “Are you actually worried about me?”

Nie Huaisang rolled his eyes again. “Imagine the kind of attention we’d get if you died in the middle of nowhere from exposure and the last place you’d been was the Unclean Realm. I do not want to deal with your brother or either of your nephews, thank you very much.”

Jiang Cheng stared at him, eyes still squinted like he was trying to read him. Fortunately, that was something he’d been notoriously bad at for his entire life. It was a good thing that he was pretty and strong.

“You know, you’ve gotten pretty lucky that you’ve basically got your foot in every other major sect. You’re running YunmengJiang, your nephew runs LanlingJin, your other nephew is the last living QishanWen, your brother is shacking up with an important member of GusuLan, and you’re shacking up with the man running QingheNie. Look at you, making connections by chance,” Nie Huaisang said, patting him on the chest. Jiang Cheng blinked three times in succession.

“How did you know about Lan Sizhui being a Wen?” he asked, “I didn’t tell you that and surely Wei Wuxian didn’t.”

Nie Huaisang huffed a laugh and pushed further into Jiang Cheng’s space until they were nose to nose, twirling his hair around his finger. He was so dumb and so, so cute. Nie Huaisang should've taken advantage of him when they were young.

“Darling, when will you learn I know everything?”

Jiang Cheng scoffed, but he didn’t push him away. Instead, his hand pressed against his back and pulled him in tightly.

“No wonder you and Wei Wuxian get on so well. You’re both know-it-all assholes,” he said.

Nie Huaisang rolled his eyes and poked him in the chest, deciding not to comment. He and Wei Wuxian got on so well because they knew different, complementary things. But it was less that they got along and more that they could respect each other for that‒and that they both knew what the other was capable of even if they didn’t know the specifics. That was enough to keep distance.

Jiang Cheng didn’t need to know that if he didn’t already.

“Ah, would you like me to get him to come here and lead you back? I bet he’d love that,” Nie Huaisang said. Jiang Cheng narrowed his eyes at him all over again.

“Asshole.”

“Mm, quite.”

Jiang Cheng made a little mocking noise and paired it with his hand carefully combing back Nie Huaisang’s hair. He was sure he looked a mess with all the blankets, but he could handle that later.

“How long will it snow for?” Jiang Cheng asked.

“Alright, when I said I knew everything, I didn’t mean I could predict the weather,” Nie Huaisang scoffed. Jiang Cheng rolled his eyes and gently flicked the base of his spine. Chills shot all the way up to his neck. “My guess would be it’ll stop by this evening, probably.”

“Then I will stay until the morning,” Jiang Cheng decided. Nie Huaisang raised an eyebrow.

“Really? You’re just going to invite yourself to stay another night? How hospitable of you, Jiang Wanyin,” he said. Jiang Cheng rolled his eyes and then gripped him a bit tighter before rolling him onto his back and placing himself on top of him. Nie Huaisang gave a mocking, “Stop it, you’ll let the cold air in!”

“Didn’t you offer to warm me up earlier? Has that offer been retracted?” he asked, lowering himself down until Nie Huaisang could feel his breath on his lips.

“Of course not, I have no intention to let my guest suffer.”

“Asshole,” Jiang Cheng said, but his voice was soft and he was smiling.

“Baby,” Nie Huaisang accused right back, but he was grinning all the same.

Jiang Cheng kissed him then, a way to silence him and a way to get warm all the same. And he would be staying another night, officially the longest they’d spent time together since this whole tryst began.

And perhaps Nie Huaisang wouldn’t be able to wait another handful of months before doing this again.

#sangcheng #sangcheng fic #nie huaisang #jiang cheng #the untamed #mdzs #my fic

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poesparakeet-fics · 3 years

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Second part done! Read on AO3 or here! SFW!

Chapters: 2/2 Fandom: Critical Role (Web Series) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Caduceus Clay & The Mighty Nein, Caduceus Clay & Jester Lavorre, Caduceus Clay & Mollymauk Tealeaf, Caduceus Clay & Yasha, Caduceus Clay & Caleb Widogast, Caduceus Clay & Beauregard Lionett Characters: Caduceus Clay, Jester Lavorre, Mollymauk Tealeaf, Yasha (Critical Role), Nott | Veth Brenatto, Caleb Widogast, Beauregard Lionett Additional Tags: Tickling, Revenge, Shrinking, wild magic mishaps, safeword, Teasing Summary:

Caduceus has made a habit of tickling some of his companions, be it as a cheer-up, a settle-down or a playful punishment. When a mishap with some wild magic makes his smaller than his friends, a few decide to get a little revenge.

CHAPTER 2 TEXT

They’d all agreed to wait a few days before going anywhere weird or dangerous, at least until Caduceus was back to normal. Sure, he didn’t fight using his size much, but the dangerously thin firbolg looked so breakable without his formidable height that they agreed to wait it out. After all, it was only a few days.

So naturally, trouble had found them.

They were lucky, really. Nobody was hurt badly, just a few scrapes and bruises. The spellcasters were burnt out, though.

“OK…” Jester said as they breathed a sigh of relief after entering the tower’s front door. “I got one healing word in me. Caduceus, want me to take care of that cut on your head?”

Caduceus reached up to touch it. It was barely a scrape. “Nah, I’m good. Maybe take down some of the bruising on Yasha’s arm?”

Jester did so, and Caduceus started to float upward toward his room. Thanks to the floating he didn’t even notice he was being followed until two sets of feet set down behind him, two bodies suddenly moving to walk with him pressed between them.

He looked up. It wasn’t Beau and Yasha, as he would have expected, Yasha being the only one to share the floor with him. It was Beau and Caleb, both smirking in ways that made his stomach squirm.

“Hey Caleb, did you hear what went on down there?”

“Ja, I think I did, Beauregard.”

“I think Caduceus just dodged a healing spell.”

Panic ripped a gasp out of Caduceus chest. “I did NOT!”

He started to try and break away from them, but Beau caught him around his middle and hugged him tight from behind. She lifted him off the ground easily, his feet kicking the air while Caleb stared him down.

“Jester offered you healing and you refused, Herr Clay. These are your rules. We have a zero tolerance policy, you see.”

Caduceus squirmed in Beau’s grasp. “It’s not the same –”

“Um, actually…” Beau cut him off, starting to walk them toward his room, “I’d like to refer you back to a previous instance of you counting Caleb’s ribs two months ago, where you involved Mollymauk for the first time. I believe it was the seventh instance of this punishment being meted out. In that instance, there were limited healing spells left and Caleb’s injury was superficial, but you cited the zero tolerance policy.”

“Ungh!” Caduceus grunted, trying to tug himself free of two arms as strong as ship cable, “You two are–”

“–Going to find out how many ribs a firbolg has?” Caleb teased over a very frightening little smirk that broke into a grin when his eyes flicked over Caduceus’ shoulder. “Veth the brave! I could use your assistance!”

When Beau turned to look he caught sight of Veth floating at the centre of the tower, her arms crossed and an amused look on her face. Her eyes met Caduceus’ gaze for a second.

“Nah. You guys have fun.”

Beau jostled Caduceus as she addressed Caleb. “Don’t worry you skinny shit, I’ll hold him down for you so you can get a little payback.”

“Noo…” Caduceus whimpered, the futility of the situation growing ever clearer. Caleb and Beau ignored him, talking to each other over his head instead as they entered his bedroom.

“Hey, has he ever done that thing where he tickles you until you say nice things about yourself?”

“Ugh. Ja.”

“So what’s he gotta say?” Beau climbed onto the bed with Caduceus still in her arms, keeping his back to her front.

“Hmm. We could make him say something mean, but that does not quite fit….”

“Nah.” Beau started to wrestle with Caduceus arms, fighting to get them up over his head. “How about just ‘I deserve this’ over and over until we’re satisfied?”

Caduceus fought her, whimpering, but her hands were as quick as sparrows and it was barely a moment before she had his wrists gripped tight. He tried to twist and get his feet under him on the bed, but Caleb grabbed his ankles and tripped his feet out as he perched on the side.

“Ja, that works for me.” Caleb shoved Caduceus’ shirt up, tucking it behind his head to keep it out of the way.

“No no no!” Caduceus wheezed as he saw his wizard friend and frequent victim smiling like a cat who caught the canary and floating his hands in a move that was clearly meant to rile him. It worked.

“Ah, you can take it, I’m sure.” the wizard answered, meeting his eyes with a wicked glitter in his gaze, “I mean, you could safeword, but I don’t think you will. Not when you know you deserve this.”

Caduceus choked a little at the reference to his very first time counting Caleb’s ribs, a whine building in the back of his throat as the man’s hands drifted closer. Oh, he was in for it . It might be easier just to cast gentle repose on himself now— Jester wouldn’t be able to bring him back until the morning.

“Alright, so we start with number one, ja?”

Caleb’s ink-stained fingertips found Caduceus’ lowest rib, flatter and broader than a human’s. The firbolg bit his lip and whimpered as first they only grazed the downy hair there before starting to pinch along the length.

“Eeheek!” Caduceus squeaked, his heels drumming on the soft bedspread as giggles poured out..

“There, just like the first time.” Caleb teased over a tight-lipped smile. “Although, actually…” Caleb’s fingers started to attack him on one side, and then the other, switching back and forth to make him writhe. “That first time, you did it one side at a time, didn’t you? So, do you deserve this, Herr Clay?”

“Noho! I- I caught you ahaha– with aha broken rib thahahat first time!”

“He what ?!” Came a growl from over Caduceus’ shoulder.

“Ah– nothing. Moving on. Two!” Caleb’s hands jumped up one rib, drawing a satisfying squeal from their captive. “Now, the second time was still just you, but a little more like… this.”

Caleb ducked down to nuzzle his nose and cheek across Caduceus’ lower rib cage. The gentle pressure and rough hair along his cheek nearly made Caduceus jump out of his skin. His back arched, his body driven back into Beau’s embrace for lack of a better place to go.

“Aha— AHAha— Ohoho, OHo OK! I deserve it! I deserve it!”

Caleb stopped nuzzling but put his fingers back to work immediately. “Wunderbar! Three.”

“Nohoho! I deserve it! Aahaa! Please!”

Caleb ignored him. “The third time… that was Veth and her feather, wasn’t it?”

Caleb pulled away to dig around his coat, and Caduceus got a precious moment to breath. He slumped against Beau and tried his best to unscramble himself.

“Got it!” Said Caleb.

Caduceus’ eyes shot open to see the wizard twirling a quill in his hand.

“Eep! Wait! I deserve it, I deserve it, I deserve it! ”

Caleb flicked the soft fronds of the feather across one rib, then another. “It’s good that you can admit that now. So here is three, and there is four… I’m sure you have more ribs than I have vengeance, right, Herr Clay?”

Cad was too breathless to answer, slumped against Beau in a frenzy of chirping giggles that pitched upward when Caleb jumped another rib. The feather was surprisingly maddening after the rough scrape of stubble.

“Five!” Caleb cheered, “so the next time would have been Yasha…”

“NO! Nononono! Pleeheeheehease!” Caduceus didn’t bother telling them he deserved it this time, that clearly wasn’t getting him anywhere.

Caleb chuckled, exchanging a devilish wink with Beauregard over Cad’s shoulder before leaning in to nip at the side of Caduceus’ ribcage.

His reaction was more scream than laughter. Oh, the teeth were bad . The biting had all the same staticy mix of sensations that the nuzzles did with the added maddening little scrape of teeth. His breathing was hitched, his legs were kicking desperately against the bedspread. By the time Caleb let up there were tears in his eyes.

Caleb let him catch his breath and watched him with a little softness.

“While we are not nearly even for what you have put me through, I do feel a little bad. You’re nearly done, eh? How about this: We’ll skip to Mollymauk–”

“NO!” Caduceus yelped, still breathless.

“Hey, hey, calm down. I only want one. You made me use my safeword over a black eye, Herr Clay. You deserve much more, but if I get one, we may call it even.”

Caduceus’ whole body was rigid, and he groaned from behind clenched teeth. “Even? Blank slate?”

Caleb chuckled at the answer. “Ja. Blank slate. Until you decide to torture me again.”

“Well that’s up to you, man.” Caduceus growled, shutting his eyes tight and clenching his teeth. “OK. Do it.”

“Ja?” Caleb asked with a renewed smile.

“Yes!”

“You’re ready?”

“Cale–”

Pbbbbbt!

That sound again, this time mostly drowned out by a bleating shriek as Caduceus jerked like he was hit by lightning. The single raspberry felt like it went on forever, a rare credit to Caleb’s lung capacity.

When Caleb pulled back he was chuckling, partly out of delight for his vengeance and partly out of mirth at Caduceus’ reaction, now starting to fade into a collection of leftover giggles, sniffles and hiccups. Beau let go of his arms and hugged him to let him lean against her and catch his breath.

“The next *hic* time you beg for *hic* mercy…”

“You’ll take it very easy on me. We are even, remember? No vengeance allowed.”

Shit . Caduceus winced. He hadn’t processed what he was agreeing to, something the wizard had undoubtedly been hoping for.

“You know, I think this erases your escalations, too.” Beau added from over his shoulder. “Blank slate, right?”

Caleb brightened considerably. “Ja! A blank slate. Starting from the beginning.”

Caduceus growled, crossing his arms and trying to look annoyed while still hiccuping. Beau crawled out from behind him, and they both rose to their feet. Caleb planted a kiss on top of his head.

“Goodnight, Herr Clay.”

…..

He was big again before long. It happened when he was sleeping, and the next morning he’d made a pot of tea by the time he realized he no longer needed two hands to pour. The epiphany made him spring up straight, a smile on his face. He felt like himself again.

It was Veth who trundled into the kitchen first.

“Good morning!” Caduceus greeted her.

“Oh! I see you’re back. Are you happy to be big again?”

“Well, it’s a little more.. Me.”

“Yes, I think it is,” her eyes glittered at him, “now you’ll be safe from the others.”

“Heh.” Caduceus nodded, “I think everyone who wanted revenge got it by now. But I am glad to be a little harder to pin down. Thank you for not helping them.”

He turned toward the sink with his mug, and Veth was suddenly hanging off his back with her feet braced on his belt.

“We both know I don’t need you to be small to get you, do I Mr. Clay?” She whispered in his ear.

Caduceus barely got one large hand over his own mouth before one of Veth’s small ones was plunged down the back of his shirt collar. Her arm disappeared there, fingers scrabbling at the skin between his shoulder blades. He squawked into his hand, legs collapsing and spine twisting. He ended up on his knees, trying desperately to shake her off as she moved with him like a rucksack, as slippery as an itch he couldn’t reach to scratch.

“Ok! Ahaa! Ok! Veth, please!” He wheezed around his hand.

She did stop, hopping off his back with a little smirk. “Don’t worry, I’m gonna keep that secret and hold over you for a while yet.”

“Wonderful.” Caduceus groaned from his position curled up in a ball on the floor.

“Just don’t get cocky and I’ll never have a reason to TAKE YOU DOWN!”

“Alright, alright.” He sighed as he stood up. “Deal. Mercy. And don’t worry, Caleb already negotiated a pretty generous immunity offer for himself.”

Veth snorted. “Please. Do that as much as you want. Just don’t. Get. Cocky.”

“Ok, Veth.”

#critickle role #caduceus clay #tickle fic #tk fic #caleb widogast #beauregard lionett #veth bernatto #tickling #ticklish #rib tickling

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kumeko · 3 years

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A/N: For Golden Dearest, a Claudeleth Zine! I wanted to do a little Claude pining for my piece.

…

A chilly breeze wafted through the royal library, carrying with it the warm scent of spice and roasted meat. Nose in his book, Claude stared blankly at the page for a long moment as he registered the new smells, the sensation of cold wind blowing through his hair. His nose twitched. Looking up, he was taken aback by how dark it was in the library. Outside, strings of lanterns lit up the street markets, their glow barely visible from the library’s windows. The smells were both familiar and strange; it had been too long since he’d eaten proper Almyran food and the thought of it made him homesick. Even though he was home now, it would take some time for his body to adjust.

“It’s that late already?” Claude murmured, setting down his book and pinching the top of his nose. On the table in front of him, several books lay open, their contents barely touched. Beside them were several letters from Byleth, the latest one still waiting for a response. When he had come back to Almyra, he had known it would be a long, hard climb to the top.

What he hadn’t expected was the amount of studying he’d have to do. It felt like he spent more time here learning than he’d ever done at the academy. The politics in the region had changed in the years he’d spent abroad, each alteration transforming other smaller areas. Politics was about dealing with those webs of connections. It was what made it exciting.

It was also what made it exhausting.

Once more, a cool wind ruffled his hair and despite himself, Claude shivered. The nights in the Almyran main castle were nothing at all like its days, the warmth of the sun long gone once the moon showed its face. His stomach rumbled and he chuckled. “Alright, alright, I get it. Time for a break.”

No one replied as he got up, his chair scraping on the wooden floor. There were no “Finally! I wonder what’s in the kitchen?” from Raphael, no stony glares from Lysithea as she tried and failed to concentrate, no smug smirks from Lorenz as he got up a second later. No, here there was only silence. Not even the servants wanted to be seen with the outcast from Fódlan.

Claude had expected as much when he’d made his decision. And yet…stuttering Marianne, more comfortable with horses than people. Ignatz and his secret paintings. Leonie, willing to challenge anyone, anytime. Hilda and her many schemes that miraculously kept her from doing any work.

Byleth. His throat caught at that last one, at that last memory. The late nights they’d spend in the library, plotting out the course of the war. As skilled as she was at war, she was less proficient with long-term strategies. More often than not, he’d look up from his notes to find her fast asleep on his right, her breathing shallow, ink smudging her cheeks.

The seat on his right was empty now. The library was empty. They were all in Fódlan, and he was here in Almyra. Seven years ago, he had left behind everything and everyone he’d known for a brand-new world.

Somehow, the journey back was even harder than he’d planned.

-x-

“Khalid.”

It took Claude five seconds to realize that Nader was talking to him. Chuckling, he released his notched arrow, striking his target slightly off-centre. Done with practice for the day, he slung his bow over his shoulder and turned around. “Ha ha, I have to get used to hearing that, don’t I?”

Standing behind him, Nadar guffawed. “Don’t let your mother hear that. She picked your name, after all.”

Despite the hot, afternoon sun, Claude shivered. He’d seen enough destruction left in his mother’s wake to know what that entailed. “I have enough of a challenge without the demon chasing me.”

“Don’t let her hear that either.” Coming closer now, he ruffled Claude’s hair affectionately. No matter how much he’d grown, Claude felt like a child at that touch. Nader’s hand was always impossibly big and warm. “Are you missing all of your targets now, or just that one?”

“Can’t get perfect all the time, you never know who’s watching.” Ducking away from Nader’s reach, he patted his disarrayed hair back into place. “It takes a lot of skill to purposely miss. Even more than it takes to reach the center.”

Nader’s brow rose. “Does it now?”

“It does.” Claude rolled his eyes, crossing his arms. “I don’t think you came all the way to the training grounds to discuss my archery?”

Nader chuckled once more. “No, but maybe I should consider it.” Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a thin letter. “This arrived this morning, for you. I made sure to take it before any of your siblings spotted it.”

Claude tried not to smile too much as he took it. “Thanks.”

As expected, the writing on the front was in Byleth’s hand. For a second, he traced out his name on the letter, his finger hovering over the dried ink. It was a good thing they were alone out here. He could feel his expression softening automatically. It had been too long since her last letter. Carefully, reverently, he tucked it into his shirt.

“You’re not going to read it?” Nader asked, surprised. The older man stroked his ragged beard. “I thought you’d tear it open immediately.”

“Oh?” Claude smirked suggestively, leaning closer to his former teacher. “Are you that curious about my love life? I didn’t think you were that kind of person, Nader. I mean, I thought it’d be better to read this in private—don’t want anyone to get too hot and bothered by it, but if you want to hear all the sordid details…” He trailed off meaningfully and winked.

“You certainly have grown.” Nader guffawed once more, his laugh like a bear’s grunt, before wrapping an arm around Claude’s shoulders and squeezing him tight. “I’ll leave you alone. Got enough saucy tales of my own without adding yours to it.”

-x-

“What do you want?” Direct as ever, his half-sister reclined regally on her plush seat and regarded him. A perfectly arched brow rose and she crossed her legs. “Well?”

“What makes you think I want anything?” Claude replied, an easy smile on his face. His hands were clasped behind his erect back, his shoulders relaxed. He wanted to paint a disarming picture. It was always easier when your opponent looked down on you.

Unfortunately, while he had a lot practice with Lorenz, his sister wasn’t buying it. “Khalid, since when do you approach others unless you need something?” She rested her chin on her hand, her long, painted fingers tapping her cheek. “The only question left is what are you willing to pay for it?”

Claude chuckled softly, mirth colouring his tone as he played along. “I can’t pull anything over you, can I?”

There were rules to politics, rules that kept you safe, that let you take advantage of others, that let others take advantage of you. A charming smile kept others at bay. Words had to mean nothing and everything. It was easier to give a fake weakness than to reveal a real one.

From the corner of his eye, he spotted a flash of blue and his words died in his throat. She hadn’t needed any of that, had she? Effortlessly, Byleth had charmed all of Garreg Mach. Even though her smile had been a rarity. Even though her weaknesses were open for all to see. Even though her words were ever honest.

The new Fódlan she was building…his hand twitched. He wanted to see it. A world where merit trumped lineage. Where borders meant nothing. He wanted to see it. He wanted to see her.

“Khalid?”

He forced himself to look in front of him, away from that flash of blue and his scattered thoughts. “Sorry, I was just feeling overwhelmed. It’s not every day I get to trade words with the crown princess, after all.”

-x-

It was only by candlelight that Claude allowed himself to read Byleth’s letter. In the privacy of his quarters, alone and away from prying eyes, if only so no one could see the soft curve of his lips as he pulled out her letter once more. He’d kept each and every one, though by now the letters were so well-worn they were barely legible.

At one point, he imaged her letters must have smelled like her, all rainwater and pine needles. Now, they only carried the scent of dust and horses from the thousands of miles it had travelled to reach him. The flame flickered as he opened the envelope, casting long shadows on him as he unfolded the sheets of paper. Her writing was as concise as ever, each word written compactly to save room. It was the way of the mercenary, the way of her father.

Hi Claude.

And now, the way of Byleth. Claude chuckled as he read the first line in the letter. It seemed even time and distance couldn’t improve her skills. “No dear? I’m hurt.”

As I thought, it is difficult to rebuild a nation. Particularly when we have lost the majority of our leaders.

“As straight to the point as ever,” he murmured softly, his eyes lowering. How many friends had they lost in this war? His classmates, his peers—each death had weighed heavier than the last. Could he have saved any of them? His smiles only held power in the castle; outside, they were nothing. Dimitri had rejected his hand outright, revenge blinding him and his house to all other possibilities.

And Edelgard…

Byleth had trembled after she’d killed the Emperor, her jaw tight as she watched her head roll. He wondered if she replayed that scene in her head. If she dreamed of that sword, of the weight of it.

He still couldn’t look at the colour red the same.

His grip tightened, crinkling the paper. “Whoops, can’t have that,” he said glibly, forcing himself out of his thoughts. Claude flattened the paper, smoothening out the wrinkles. “These are going to be family heirlooms, after all.”

Hubert would have made fun of him for that. A starry-eyed Dorothea would have called it romantic. Slyly, Sylvain might have swapped love stories. In the future, he hoped no one would know this dull ache that throbbed in his chest or the heavy lump in his throat.

At least his house had made it through, unscathed. Especially Hilda; Byleth’s every other sentence for the next two paragraphs were about her and her exploits: a children’s book with Seteth, charming the pants off every noble she encountered, and starting a fashion line. And Claude had thought he was accomplished. Ignatz was painting and Raphael visited his sister and for all the sorrow the war had caused, there was joy too.

Claude read Byleth’s letter unhurriedly, savouring each word. News from Fódlan was hard to get here, news of his friends even more so. Yet, no matter how slowly he read, the end came all too soon.

Progress is slow, but steady. Come back soon,

Byleth

Her usual final words. It was never ‘I love you’ or ‘I miss you’, just ‘Come back soon’. He wondered how Byleth looked when she penned them, if she sat alone in her room just as he did his, carefully picking out each word as though he were searching for jewels in the dirt. Claude pressed his fingers against Come back soon, remembering the feel of her rough hands. Her soft lips. She had only recently remembered how to smile.

He hoped she wouldn’t forget before he came back.

It was funny. Claude had made it through five years without her, five long years buoyed only by his belief that she’d back. Byleth had shown him miracles and he knew she’d show him one last one, that someone like her wouldn’t just die like that.

Now, he knew exactly where she was, knew exactly how to reach her, and he could barely make it through a few months without wanting to run back to her arms. He’d lost the ability to do without her. Utterly, completely lost it.

“When I get back, you’d better be ready,” Claude whispered, reaching into his tunic and pulling out a fine silver chain. Dangling off it, her ring glinted in the candlelight. It glittered full of the promises of tomorrow.

In the middle of the night, tomorrow felt like a long way off. He could only hope she missed him half as much as he missed her.

#claudeleth #claude x byleth #claude von riegan #byleth #fire emblem three houses #fe3h #khalid #fanfic

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angelic-holland · 4 years

Text

colors ‣ eighteen!verse

Y/N has an idea, Tom is happy to oblige.

or...

Y/N thinks it would be fun to color in Tom’s tattoos.... and he never says no to his princess.

word count: 1.3k

warnings: smut, lowkey daddy kink, fluff, smoking (weed)

a/n: another installment of the eighteen!verse series! i would love to hear your thoughts about this piece!

masterlist ✦ taglist

***

“Tommmmm,” you whined, head tucked into his chest as he lazily stroked your back with one hand.

His thumb and forefinger flick the ash of a joint into the mason jar on his other side.

“What, Princess?” Tom asked before taking another drag, holding the joint in front of your lips.

You lean forward and wrap your lips around the end, sucking softly as smoke fills your lungs.

Tom pulled the joint away, resting it on the coffee table while you exhaled.

Your hands absentmindedly played with the lingering smoke in the air, your brain starting to get just a little hazy.

“Have you ever-,” you paused, letting a few giggles escape your lips before you turned your head to look at Tom. “Have you ever thought about coloring these in?”

Your hands grasped his biceps, gliding over the black lined wings on his skin.

“Hmm?” Tom asked, unsure of what you meant.

You huffed out a sigh, squirming until one of his hands planted on your ass, keeping you in place.

“Yeah! Like coloring these in, rainbow wings!”

“You want me to color these in? Like sit through another sixteen hours of tattooing to get them colored in?” Tom looked at you skeptically as you pouted.

“No dummy, I’d color them in. With markers or something,” you mumbled, nuzzling your head into his neck. He smelled like cinnamon and ink, the weed overpowering both as your lips gently kissed his tanned skin.

“You want to color my tattoos in, baby?” Tom chuckled, patting your ass lightly before placing you on the couch next to him.

“Where’re you going?” You whined, sitting up before Tom gently cupped your cheek, leaning over you rather dauntingly. His eyes were full of amusement as he took your bottom lip between his teeth, tugging slightly.

“I’m getting my markers. My princess wants to color, doesn’t she?”

You nodded happily, leaning back into the cushions while Tom padded off to your bedroom.

You hummed happily, fingers thrumming against the cushion while you waited.

It honestly felt like hours before Tom came back in, a pack of magic markers in one hand, now completely shirtless.

“Hey! I wanted to do that, mister,” you teased, sitting up on your knees and patting the seat next to you.

“Oh, you’ll do plenty, c’mere,” Tom grunted as he sat down, pulling you onto his lap again.

“Why’re you letting me color your tattoos, Tom?”

“Cause I love you and it’ll make you happy. Okay, what color first?” He asked as you rummaged through the markers.

“Blue, cause it’s your favorite,” you teased, pushing Tom back against the couch lightly.

“You know…” Tom started as you began to color the wings wrapping up his biceps. “When you first agreed to tutor me, I thought there was no way you’d stay for more than one session. I mean… I knew nothing, our professor gave up on me.”

You smiled up at Tom, kissing his nose lightly. “Professor Allison promised me lots of extra credit if I could teach you.”

“Hey!” He grumbled, stroking your side while you switched to purple, adding more color up his arm.

“And because I knew I couldn’t resist staring at such a cute face while I tutored you.”

Tom clicked his tongue. “I think that’s the only reason I didn’t drop out of the class.”

“Liar!” You switched your markers to the other arm, a sufficient whirlwind of blues, purples, and greens added to his wings.

“Okay, okay.” Tom chuckled, holding you still. “I needed it to graduate, sure. But you were the best motivator.”

“Uhuh,” you giggled. “Can you believe that was more than a year and a half ago?”

“I can’t believe you’ve put up with me for almost two years.”

“I love you.”

Those words were spoken between the two of you every single day. No matter how many times you said it, you’d never get tired of telling Tom you love him.

He came into your life when you were least expecting him to, and he stayed. And even to this day you don’t think he understood how much that meant to you.

“Slow down, Y/N,” Tom murmured, his lips gently kissed down your neck while your hands worked on his belt.

“Why? I want you.” You tossed his belt to the side, glancing up at Tom with wide eyes.

“I want to make love to you, baby.”

Your heart thudded impossibly fast in your chest, your breath catching in your throat.

“I’m yours,” you whispered, his hands cupping your cheeks while you relaxed on his lap.

“I’m yours, baby, let’s take this slow.” He tenderly kissed you, one hand trailing down your shoulder to push back the strap of your shirt while the other held your face to his.

Sometimes you wondered why Tom liked to kiss you so much, why his teeth always managed to tug at your bottom lip so he could hear that specific sound.

“Ah.” You moaned, grinding down against him as he pushed your skirt up around your waist.

“Keep singing for me, angel,” Tom murmured as he raised your hips, allowing you to slip his length out of his jeans. In one fluid motion, you never understood how he was so smooth, he pushed your panties to the side as well.

“Daddy,” you whispered, his thumb teasing your clit.

“Want daddy to take care of you, princess?” Tom asked, lifting you up so he could position his length under you.

“Please,” you begged, thighs already on fire as you began to lower yourself down onto his cock.

Tom silenced your pleas with a kiss, pulling you back into his fervor. His tongue made its way into your mouth when you finally completely lowered yourself onto his lap.

The air in the room was thick with smoke and your panting while you ground against him, taking in each of the noises you were able to draw from his lips.

Heat pooled low in your tummy as you ground against Tom, reveling in the feeling of his hands on your waist, bruising your skin.

“I love you, Y/N.”

“Tommy,” you cried out, arching your back so your chest was pressed flush against his.

You continued to ride him until your thighs tired, your body shaking as you let his hips thrust up into yours.

“That’s my girl.” Tom slipped a hand between your bodies, pushing your skirt further up your waist.

“Please… I want-.” You gasped when the rough pad of Tom’s thumb grazed against your clit, beginning to caress your bundle of nerves.

“What baby? What does my baby want?” He teased, holding you tight so you couldn’t writhe too much.

“To cum, please, please Tom. I want to cum,” you begged, “Want to cum with you.”

“Oh? You want me to cum in your tight pussy?” Tom grunted, loosening his grip on you as you buried your face in his shoulder, biting at the skin there to quiet your noises.

“Please, daddy, please.” You were muffled by his shoulder.

“Cum for me then baby girl, want you to fall apart for me.” Tom emphasized his words by thrusting hard up into you, jolting your body almost nearly off his cock while you clenched around him, desperate to be full.

With a shout of Tom’s name and a flick of his thumb against your clit, you fell apart, the knot in your stomach breaking as he made you cum. His cock twitched inside of you, pulsing against your sweet spot when he came, filling you impossibly more.

“That’s it, shh, good girl,” he praised, pulling his thumb from your clit when you began to shake, gently rubbing your back as you came back down.

You pulled your face away from his neck when your breathing evened out, giddy when he pressed a sloppy kiss against your jaw.

“You got marker all over me!” You pouted, pulling back to show Tom the purples and blues that covered your hands and arms.

“Oh no, no blaming me for that,” Tom teased, flipping you over while still buried deep inside of you.

“I’m just saying!” you giggled, leaning up to kiss him.

Tom smiled against your lips. “It’s because you’re the universe’s best creation.”

***

taglist: @thatweirdomimic // @the-professional-procastinator // @hazmyheart // @peterplanet // @midnightstan // @ruefulposts // @hollandcreep // @beelzebubsgirl666 // @witchyartemis // @alrightyy-aphrodite // @peteywillproceed // @hallelujah-holland // @icelandicpaganwitch // @unsaidholland // @sunnydays0803

#tom holland #tom holland smut #tom holland x reader #eighteen!verse #tom holland x fem!reader #tom holland x you #tom holland x y/n #tom holland imagine #tom holland fluff

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grapefruitsketches · 4 years

Text

Night Has Fallen, And So Should We

For fytheuntamed’s Untamed Fall Fest Day 17: Falling

Rated T, 1,383 Words. Pre-Nielan, Post-Sunshot, Fluff, NMJ is very pro Letting LXC Rest

Also available on AO3

It started with a just a simple slip. Lan Xichen was sure that he had placed the teacup on the table, but the clattering sound, the trickle of tea creeping slowly towards where he knelt, said otherwise.

“Xichen?” Nie Mingjue raised an eyebrow his way.

Xichen let a smile flicker across his face, though his jaw was still clenched in confusion, “I’m sorry da-ge, must have let myself get too distracted.”

“Mm,” Nie Mingjue nodded, turning back towards the various correspondence he was meant to be answering.

Xichen stood, brow furrowed slightly as he looked down at the cup, rolling gently side to side. Playful, almost, despite its recent betrayal.

He sighed, “I’m going to go get something to clean this up. I’ll be right back.”

“Mnm,” was again Mingjue’s only answer.

And Xichen could only hope that the other man was focused enough on his work that he hadn’t noticed the slight stumble to Xichen’s step as he walked to the vanity, finding the soft cloths he looked for.

Night had long fallen when the quiet sounds of brushes sweeping against paper was next interrupted. This time, by a long, unselfconscious yawn.

“I think I’m about ready to turn in for the night, Xichen,” Mingjue said, standing up from the desk and stretching out his arms, shaking out his cramping hands, “What about you?”

Xichen stared at the lines of writing in front of him a few moments longer, trying to make sense of it. He had wanted to finish at least the inventory reports. And if not that, then at least enough of them to last the month. Failing that, he had expected to at least be done this one page.

But the words were blurring at the edges, and he squinted close. He couldn’t for the life of him figure out if the kitchens were complaining that they were low on wood or low on rice. Maybe both? He couldn’t tell.

He bit his lip, “I… I need just a bit more time. Maybe I’ll meet you for tea later?”

Mingjue laughed, “I can wait. I know how you are – if I leave you here now, I might not see you until morning!”

Xichen let the corners of his mouth tick up just a bit, but didn’t take his eyes off the page. Just this one report. He could finish this one report.

He could hear Mingjue moving about the room, each step reverberating in his head. He pulled the page up close to his face with one hand, and the other moved up to his temple, massaging it lightly.

It was wood. It was definitely wood they were asking for. Ok. All he would have to do is write a quick note, sign it, and then one of the kitchen staff could go and place the order on the sect’s behalf. He pulled a blank sheet of paper over, blinking tiredly. All he had to do was write the order. Copy the requested amount of wood. Sign his name. Then he could go.

He swallowed and cleared his throat lightly before beginning.

Moments later, he was staring at the most childishly scrawled out characters he had seen since grading one of the disciples’ history essays. He set the brush down and set the paper aside. Once it had dried, he would use the back as scrap paper in something else.

He started again, biting on his tongue, trying to keep himself awake as he moved the brush painstakingly over the page, lingering just a bit too long here and there, leaving lines a hair too thick, the odd stroke just a little wobbly.

He compared the two drafts, sighed, and chose the second as the marginally better option. He just didn’t have it in him to try a third time. He set the chosen note aside, and promised himself he would notify the kitchen staff to pick it up from him first thing the next morning.

Shoulders slumped, he sighed in relief at being done this simple, but for some reason exceedingly tiresome task. He looked up.

And met Nie Mingjue’s eyes, which were watching him carefully.

“What is it, da-ge?” Xichen asked politely, rearranging the brushes, the ink, the papers on his desk, trying to get them back to the way he liked them.

“What’s wrong?” Mingjue asked, crossing his arms.

Xichen frowned, “Nothing’s wrong, that just… took longer than usual,” he pulled his lips back into a smile, “I’m sorry, you must be hungry. We can go now?”

Mingjue let out a grunt of frustration and shook his head, kneeling so that he was now eye-to-eye with his sworn brother, “You’re not going to get off that easy,” he pointed to a spot on the bridge of his nose, “Look at me. Right here. Now, follow my finger.”

“Da-ge, I don’t know why…” But Xichen tracked the finger anyway, moving his head side to side, up and down, blinking to keep it in focus, “I’m fine.”

Mingjue looked at him skeptically, “Xichen, in case you’ve forgotten, I have a stubborn younger brother too. I’m years past ‘I’m fine’ working on me,” he lowered his hand, “You’re delayed. You’ve been working yourself too hard.”

Xichen sighed, still smiling gently, “I’ve had just a bit of a headache, maybe, and I’m a little tired. That’s all. But really, da-ge. It’s nothing to worry about. I just need a good night’s rest.”

“Alright,” Mingjue slapped his hands decisively on his thighs as he stood, reaching a hand out to Xichen, “Then go get a good night’s rest. Then I won’t worry.”

Xichen chuckled, still tidying up the piles of paper, “Fine. I will, just let me…”

“No,” Mingjue insisted, “No ‘just.’ Now.”

Xichen raised an eyebrow in Mingjue’s direction.

“I’m serious,” Mingjue said, “Come on, Xichen, I know you know I know you well enough to know that if I leave you alone now, you’ll just go right back to work.”

Xichen smiled, teasing note to his voice, “Maybe you’re right, but certainly I’m allowed, as sect leader, to decide when I stop working for the night?” But despite the apparent protests, he placed his hand in Mingjue’s offered one, letting himself be pulled up. He stumbled, and was glad, even if slightly embarrassed, to have Mingjue’s chest there to catch him.

“Sure,” Mingjue shrugged, but spoke quietly, almost tenderly as he led Xichen over to his bed, “You may be allowed, but I seem to remember you saying at one point that Cloud Recesses prides itself on its hospitality? Well, I’m a guest, and I would like my host to go to bed.”

Xichen chuckled even as his eyelids fluttered, suddenly very heavy. He yawned, “And I’m nothing if not a good host, I suppose, but…” he forced his eyes to stay open, catching Nie Mingjue’s gaze, eyes twinkling even through their tired haze, “But I hope you don’t still only see yourself as a guest here, da-ge?”

Nie Mingjue let out a breath of laughter, “You Lans. Always so vague,” he helped Xichen pull off his heavy outer robes and pulled back the blankets on the bed, letting Xichen slip underneath the covers. He smoothed Xichen’s hair back, pulling the pin out of his hairpiece and setting the ornament aside, “Sleep now. You can explain how I should think of myself in the morning, alright?”

“Mmhm,” Xichen hummed, eyes closed, already seeming half asleep.

But as Mingjue began to withdraw, Xichen’s hand caught his again, “Thank you,” the dozing man whispered, clenching the Mingjue’s hand tightly.

At the words, at the peaceful smile on Xichen’s face, Mingjue had the sudden urge to lean down, to kiss the sleeping man’s forehead. But the Lan ribbon stood in his way. And despite any knowing glances from Huaisang, despite the reddened cheeks Mingjue sometimes thought he noticed on his friend when they happened to catch each other’s eyes at sect leader meetings, and even despite the fact that Mingjue, and seemingly Mingjue alone, was invited to work late into the night in the Hanshi, Mingjue couldn’t know for sure yet whether “not being just a guest” meant enough that he could touch it.

So instead, he simply squeezed his friend’s hand back.

“Anytime, Xichen,” he said, “Sleep well.”

And Xichen did.

#untamed fall fest #nielan #nie mingjue #lan xichen #cql #the untamed #mdzs #mo dao zu shi #my writing

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